


West End Girls

by Lillington_x



Category: GTA V, Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Blaine County, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Light Smut, Los Santos Police Department, Multi, Vanilla Unicorn, a lot of blood, the lost mc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:08:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 73,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5498111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillington_x/pseuds/Lillington_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She took up a job at the Vanilla Unicorn in Los Santos and it didn't seem like a bad place to start over from a dusty life in the desert. Take away the gangs, drugs, shallow celebrities, and constant sirens then it was paradise. Things were looking up for Jackie. Maybe things actually would have worked out okay if the gentlemen's club wasn't given a new manager to shake things up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Work in progress! :)

_Fuckfuckfuck_ I thought to myself. The campus grounds were a lot bigger than they appeared in the pictures on the Internet. Hunching over the steering wheel of my Cavalcade, I narrowed my eyes in an attempt to focus harder on my search for a parking spot. The downpour weeping from the gray sky overhead was of no help either. Just as I switched the windshield wipers to a higher setting, I caught a thin blonde come scurrying from around the corner of a narrow, bricked building. Maybe she could alleviate some of the confusion lingering on my shoulders.

"Hey!" I called out to her, rolling down the passenger window with a push of a button to my left.

"I'm not a prostitute!" she shouted back. I gasped.

"Oh, no!" I rolled the window the rest of the way down. "No! I could use some directions and it looks like you could use a ride!"

She paused, letting the rain relentlessly pelt down on her bare head. A crack of lightning made her leap inches into the air before she splashed over. She clamored into my vehicle, wringing water from the ends of her yellow hair with a frown.

"So much for a twenty-percent chance of rain. Kill the weatherman, huh?" I tried being friendly. Her nose scrunched up.

"You're not gonna chop me up into tiny pieces and, like, eat me, are you?"

"I think that's outta style. I'm lookin' for the administration buildin' so I can register for class or somethin'," I gestured to the mass of building surrounding my refuge of a car.

"That accent... You're not from around here," she noted, edging closer to the door. I put up both my hands.

"I'm from the county and trust me, I wouldn't ruin a good French manicure on the likes of murderin' or kidnappin'. Relax," I suggested, growing agitated. Here I was, out of my element and trying to do a favor for a stranger only to be looked at like some probing alien. I caught her peeking over at my nails.

"Why would anyone voluntarily attend ULSA?" she went on in an airy tone. My heart dropped. I was tired of making mistakes. Furthering my education was supposed to make a difference...

"Is it a bad school?" I questioned. She quickly shook her head, starting to relax in the passenger seat. I couldn't be bothered to complain about how damp my upholstery was growing.

"No. It's not bad. There's just no...class, or decent parties for that matter," she replied. _No class or parties?_ So I had picked up one of those chicks. I shifted the car into Drive and started along the narrow road aligned with parked cars.

"Here's the main hall," she pointed at a two story, maroon building. "Administration is through the front double doors, second room on your right. Actually, could you drop me off at my car? I can show you the main student parking lot that way."

"Why not?" I rhetorically complied.

"Left up here, then an immediate right," she gestured. Sure enough, a square lot sat adjacent to the school grounds. A wave of nerves washed over me when I noticed more Sports cars than Sedans or SUVs. My Cavalcade and I would fit in here like a triangle peg to a square hole. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to throat punch anyone who thought they were better than everyone else. Or me.

I cringed as my passenger pointed to a yellow convertible in the corner of the lot.

"Shit! I left the top down. Daddy's gonna kill me!" she whined. I leapt from my vehicle and hurried over to help her manually raise the top. The sky's fat raindrops immediately drew a shiver from me and I let out a groan.

"You need a ride home or wherever?" I volunteered.

"Oh my gosh. Thank you! I... I didn't even get your name!" she shouted over a rumble of thunder. I beckoned for her to come back to my vehicle.

"Jacquelyn, but most call me Jackie," I finally let out, extending a hand over the center console. She shook it and nodded.

"Tracey."

I nodded back once before shifting gears and pulling away from the convertible. Poor girl. It would take a fortune for her to repair her car's interior. I cringed at the thought, mentally refamiliarizing myself with the memories of desert dust and thunder storms that lasted for hours, sometimes even whole days. Before I relocated down to Los Santos, the roof of my trailer used to leak and ruin just about everthing I owned.

"Daddy?"

Tracey's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked to find her phone pressed to her ear.

"May I please pretty please please PLEASE borrow some money to get my car fixed? ...I left the top down. Okay? It wasn't supposed to rain today... How was I supposed to know? Fine. Don't. I'll get Franklin to help me. You can't keep me away from him, daddy. He's the reason I'm even in school... You don't mean that..."

I quit listening as some sort of burdenous emotion began to slip into her tone. When daddy's girls didn't get their way, daddy always wound up paying, one way or another. At least, that's what I assumed and took away from television and movies. It's not like I would know anything about it. My dad disappeared long before I could even distinguish a want from a need.

"Left here," she pointed through the windshield. "No, daddy. I'm getting a ride from someone. No, SHE is pretty nice. No, you don't need her name and number. That's it! I'm telling mom!"

I shook my head and popped open the compartment between the both of us while we were waiting at a red light.

"Don't mind if I...?" I shook my half-empty carton of cigarettes.

"Go ahead," she urged. As I flicked my lighter, she hung up her phone and retrieved cigarettes of her own from her purse. I had to stop myself from nagging. Poor girl's car was flooded and I'm sure she needed that cigarette. Go right ahead. No need to ask. Cracking her window, she closed her eyes and exhaled after taking an exceptionally long drag.

"So what're you enrolling for?" she asked.

"Accounting," I answered. I had always been a girl of numbers and proper management. It was part of what got me into trouble and caused my minor migration down to the bustling city.

"I wish I knew what I was interested in. I do a bunch of theater shit. I want to be an entertainer. Take a right here," she explained. "My mom was one, so why not, right? This house here, through the gate."

As we approached, a tall, iron-wrought fence pulled itself back.

"Nice house," I noted, impressed by the wide, two-story home. "Your mom must be a decent actress."

She laughed, popping open her door.

"Not even. She was a stripper. Daddy bought this. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you on-campus," she concluded before closing the door and scurrying toward the mansion. I looked up at her home again before shaking my head and reversing down the driveway. Whatever her dad did for a living, I needed to get in on. Laughing to myself, I shook my head. I was getting along fine on my own. Asking for too much was another reason why I was here.

The large homes in Rockford Hills seemed just as marvelous in the pouring rain as I'm sure they looked when the sun was shining. Maybe I would cruise through the neighborhood on a better day. My phone's alarm vibrated twice in the cup holder. Shit. Helping Tracey had taken up more time than I had anticipated. I had to be at work in an hour and I still had to get dressed. I peeked in the rearview mirror. My makeup and hair had to be done again as well.

A car horn sounded from behind me, making me jump in the seat. The green traffic light beamed down against the steady darkening sky. School registration would have to wait until tomorrow. I couldn't afford to be late and piss of Leon. There was no way I would find another job lenient enough to work only night shifts _and_ go to school during the day. I wasn't one to be recognized either and after a solid year at the Vanilla Unicorn, I was doing well at not having my stage name called out anywhere except at the gentlemen's club. Without warning, a black car cut me off. I mashed on the brake pedal and leaned on the horn. I could barely make out the driver thrust a middle finger over their shoulder, but the passenger slapped the hand down.

"Fuck both of you!" I declared, jerking the wheel and speeding around the vehicle. The driver accelerated alongside me then cut me off again.

"These fuckin' Los Santos drivers," I muttered. I dropped my speed, settling with a calmer attitude before work. Lo and behold, eventually the black car took a left turn and pulled into a parking spot outside my place of work. The driver's door popped open. I started to roll down my window and give the irritated looking man a piece of mind, but decided against it when the passenger door opened. I didn't like being outnumbered, so I kept driving, deciding to park on the other side of the building. Great. I might be the lucky girl that would have to serve those two pricks later. Cutting the engine, I picked up my phone and scrolled through a few Bleeter posts. I need Prick #1 and Prick #2 preoccupied before I walked in. I wasn't in the mood for any altercations.

After a few minutes, I reached in the backseat to retrieve my duffelbag. The rain had stopped, so I took advantage of the situation and scurried around the outside of the club.

"Evening, Miss Jackie," the bouncer greeted from his spot against the wall. I sent him a smile and pushed inside.

"I wish a fool would run up on me for wearing a hoodie!" a man proclaimed to his friend as I brushed past. Someone blew cigarette smoke over my head. Kelly Rowland's "Work" blasted through the loudspeakers. The bass line shook the walls. A group of men laughed over their drinks at a table. I caught sight of one of the other dancers, Fufu, come sauntering down the stage just before I slipped through the silk curtains leading to the back of the club.

"About time. I thought we were gonna miss you tonight," Sapphire proclaimed, emerging from the hall which led to the stage and our manager's personal office.

"There is money to be made!" I announced, dropping my duffel on the cluttered counter and shimmying from my damp jacket.

"Hurry out. They're generous tonight," she explained.

"It's Monday! Someone's gotta start the week off the right way!" I called after her. Her faint laugh responded as she pushed through the door that led up front to the private dancing section.

Sighing, I plopped down on a stool in front of the wide mirror. Goodbye Jacquelyn. It was time to be Cinnamon for the next six hours. I met my big brown eyes in the mirror and put a pout on my mouth. Once you got over the wandering eyes, the amount of skin on display, and handing over fifteen percent of what you made for the night over to Leon, working here wasn't bad. Drinks were expensive, private dances were even more expensive, and I wouldn't eat the food they served here if my life depended on it, but it was all a part of something bigger that no one could understand unless they were part of the staff themselves.

I stood and peeled off my jeans and cotton panties. Hastily, I smeared white tea body oil all over my legs before stepping into a G-string and a pair of strappy, black stilettos with a heel thin enough to make any model cringe. I lifted my shirt over my head then slipped into a fire engine red, lace bralette. It hugged my back and tied in the front with a bow similar to one mother's pressed against Christmas gifts. I tossed my clothes into the duffel and pulled out my makeup kit. The door behind me burst open and Infernus came rushing to the dressing rack.

"Don't say anything," she panted, dropping her bookbag and hurriedly pulling at her clothes.

"I won't," I smirked. I sat back on the stool and began to apply eyeliner.

"My boyfriend and my sugar daddy finally found out about each other, today of all days, and got into a fucking fist fight right there in my apartment," she explained. "LSPD are shit at handling domestic violence."

"Look at us. I don't see how you manage relationships, period," I replied, leaning back from the mirror and toying with my cleavage as one of my nipples tried slipping loose.

"It's not hard. Your crazy ass just needs some schooling," she remarked.

" _Schoolin'_?" I scoffed. She nodded, sitting on the floor to wriggle into a pair of knee high leather heels.

"You know what I'm talking about," she shot me a knowing look. "Someone needs to grab you by the horns and ride that bull till it taps out."

"Bullshit, shut up," I blushed. I had been good since I moved to Los Santos. I needed the change. There was too much I was trying to leave behind in the county for me to start that cycle up all over again in the city.

"Help me up?" she requested, wringing her hands over her shoulders. I pushed away from the counter and hoisted her from the dingy floor just as the music faltered slightly.

"Up next, we got a club favorite..." the DJ started up. Fufu pushed through the curtains and quietly sauntered through the dressing room toward the front of the club.

"...Give it up for Infernus!" the DJ announced. She scurried down the hall, pausing just behind the curtain for a moment to compose herself. I felt the atmosphere swell as Amerie's "1 Thing" started playing and she disappeared beyond the curtain. A club favorite was an understatement. Infernus was employee of the month...for the past three months. I wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the fact she took clients home or because she could do a split on the ceiling, but she was what I think I aspired to be in an "exotic dancer".

After zipping my duffel and tossing it in the corner, I made my way into the sweltering club.

"Hello gorgeous."

I looked over my shoulder to find the irritated looking man who had shot me the bird leaning against the wall with one hand in his pocket and a drink in the other. Unable to tell if he recognized me, I played nice.

"Hey handsome. How you doin' tonight?" I approached him, gently pushing my chest against his arm. He smiled and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. I'd never met a man who wore a suit to the Vanilla Unicorn unless he was talking business with Leon.

"Not too bad. How're you?" he answered without removing the cigarette from between his thin lips.

"She's fine, I'll tell ya," came a voice from right behind me. I jumped slightly then turned around to the newcomer. Despite our dim surroundings, his eyes shone as he caught me in his sights.

"My my my. Two for one?" I suggested with a small laugh. The one in the suit opened his mouth to say something, but the one with the crazy eyes spoke first.

"Just one. You don't want him, sugar. He's married," he remarked. I looked down at the man's hand and found the band about his finger. I shot them both a soft smile.

"You his husband?" I tried. The suited one laughed from somewhere in his gut.

"Hardy har. Is that how you get your clients?"

"Is this how you get your women?" I shot back, sauntering away. I had a floor to work. I never understood men who came in here to hold hands with their best friends. Didn't they understand this was a business?

The one with the eyes meandered alongside me as I slowly waltzed around the floor.

"How 'bout a dance? Just you and me? We can leave Michael out here," he suggested. His backwoods drawl made me remember home.

"Where're you from?" I immediately asked, ignoring his request.

"...where're _you_ from?" he responded, leaning back slightly. I looked him up and down.

"Maybe I'll tell you later," I answered, sending a wink his way. Clad in a wrinkled white V-neck and stained sweatpants over snakeskin boots, he stood out about as much as his friend did, but he had an air about him that made me want to ask what he did for fun or why he felt it was acceptable to leave the house looking like that.

"Are you flirting with me?" he asked, an incredulous look spreading over his face. I smirked, biting my bottom lip.

"Who knows?"

"What kind of daddy issues you have the reason you're workin' here, cuttin' out pieces of Uncle T to savor for later, hm?"

The low blows never quit from this one. It would be a long night if I couldn't shake him off or break my normal routine and take him home. I hummed.

"I don't know who my daddy is, if that's a valid enough of an issue for you."

"Sometimes it's best to not know than to know. Trust me," he grumbled.

"Oh, you're a poet?" I mocked. His eyes narrowed at me and I felt significantly small under his wild, amber gaze.

"I don't know if I like your mouth," he remarked.

"It's not yours to like," I fired back then flashed a coy grin. "Besides, you look old enough to be my daddy and my mother wasn't the most reserved woman in the world."

"Oh, I can be your _Daddy_ , alright," he throatily taunted. A low rumble mused it's way out of his chest and into his throat, milking a shiver out of me. I looked him up and down again then continued making my rounds around the club. I could feel his eyes on me from his spot at the top of the stairs, but I was used to such solicitation. Walking around the club with little to no clothes on and feeling empowered around lust-filled men had become second nature to me and my coworkers.

This one was different, however. Beneath his gaze, I felt calculated and anticipated. It felt like a lion watching a gazelle, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

"You got everything you need, honey?" I asked a man as I leaned over close so he could hear me over the thumping music. He shook his head and beckoned me closer with a wave of his hand. As I hunched over his table, he wrapped an arm around my lower back and pulled me down into his lap.

"Oh ho! Now I'm good!" he cheerily claimed. I squirmed in his lap, struggling to break from his embrace. He groped my breasts and I grimaced.

"You gotta pay extra for that, bub," I warned with a roll of my eyes.

"I got all the money you need, baby. Just let me see what you got going on first and we'll go from there..." one of his hands slipped between my legs and I instinctively elbowed him in the throat. The man gagged then stumbled to his feet, throwing me to the carpet.

Before I could recover, I took a swift kick to the ribs. Groaning and biting back the urge to retch, I curled into a ball.

"Hey! Ain't your mother ever told you to play nice? You don't go puttin' your hands on a lady!" Wild Eye's voice declared before I heard glass breaking. The man who had thrown me down, and I assumed kicked me too, landed on the carpet beside me. He was wailing into his hands, blood seeping through his fingers. Fufu scampered over and helped me to stand.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I held onto my side and grit my teeth together.

"Aye! We need security over here!" the DJ ordered over the speakers, only pausing the music for a second to make his announcement. Two of our guards trotted over. One grabbed Wild Eyes and started tugging him away from the altercation. His friend in the suit wasted no time following. The other guard grabbed my assaulter up from the floor and started dragging him away.

Leon came storming through the purple curtains that separated the club from the private dancers and our dressing room.

"What's up? What's happened?" he impatiently questioned with a snap of his fingers.

"Some chump just got a little too friendly. It's alright," I explained. I couldn't hide a wince as I pulled away from Fufu.

"You sure you're okay?" she pried.

"Yeah," I reassured her, wincing again as I shuffled my feet. Leon noisily chewed his gum and rubbed at the stubble on his face.

"You and I both know I can't have you limping and making rounds. What kinda establishment am I running here, huh?" he asked. My heart dropped.

"No, Leon. I'm fine. I promise. I'm on stage next. I've got it."

"Bullshit," he took my arm and shook his head. We both peered down at the bruise making its presence known on my left side. I groaned.

"You're not working anything till that bad boy is gone, Cinnamon. Phone up Cheetah," he ordered. I stomped a stiletto and whined.

"Give it two days then send me a picture. If it ain't faded, you're taking a week. I don't need no social workers in here inspecting the conditions like I'm working some sorta sweatshop. You like your job, don't you?"

I sighed as he started on his speech.

"Yes, I like my job..."

"If you wanna keep it, do as I said. There are plenty of desperate girls out there who'd kill to be in your spot right now, not because they enjoy it but because they need it. Get dressed and go home, Jacquelyn. I'm not arguing with you tonight."

"Yes, Leon," I answered sweetly, forcing on a smile. When he turned away, I scowled.

"This club isn't going anywhere," Sapphire told me as she stepped up. "So long as there are men and women looking for love in the wrong places, we'll be fine. Go rest, sweetie."

"Ugh. Not you too," I turned and slowly started toward the back. Sapphire approached the DJ booth to tell him about our schedule change.

Once in the back, I lowered myself onto the stool and sighed. Not a dime earned. I hadn't had a night like tonight since I first started working the Vanilla Unicorn last year. Not a single fucking dime. I propped my elbows on the counter before me and held my face in my hands, purposefully smearing my eyeliner. Not only would I probably come up short on money for registration, but who knew how expensive books were? ...maybe that Tracey girl I picked up would have the same textbooks? I groaned out loud. No. She was in theater and she didn't seem like the Business or Calculus type.

Slowly drawing in a deep breath, I pulled it all together and slipped back into my regular clothes. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and stepped into my tennis shoes. My jacket was still damp against my shirt. Could this night get even worse? I stopped in my tracks just before I left the dressing room. Yeah. It could get a lot worse. I still had a place to stay and food in my refrigerator. I wasn't going to bed hungry anymore. I wasn't working that horrid bar anymore. I wasn't being hunted anymore, at least I didn't think so.

"Yes. You're bruised and your pockets are empty tonight. You're fine," I reassured myself then pushed my way back through the club.

I had been inside barely an hour, but the sun was already set and the night's cool air felt amazing on my skin.

"Hey."

I tore my eyes away from the full moon overhead and found Wild Eyes standing by the black car. I trotted over, cautiously keeping a few conscious feet between us then asked,

"Where's your friend?"

He pointed over his shoulder.

"In the car, on the phone with his wife. She's got a sixth sense for when he's near trouble."

"Ha. Of course. So... Did you perhaps bust that guy in the face with a glass?"

"When a man puts his hands on a woman, I go... poof," he mimicked an explosion over his head with his hands. I nodded.

"Well, thanks? I guess that's what I'm supposed to say now?"

"Yer welcome."

"You from Blaine County?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity anymore.

"Why?" he took a few steps closer, a queer look on his rough face.

"Ain't too many of us down this far and your tan is pretty impressive," I had to lift my chin to look him in the face as his sturdy frame grew nearer. There was a small scar in his eyebrow and a CUT HERE tattoo around his neck that made me wonder what pit he had crawled out of...and why or how.

"I'm talkin'. You listenin' to me?" he whistled, waving a hand in front of my face. I blinked several times.

"What?"

"I said, what's your name?"

"Cinnamon," I beamed.

"Your real name, sugartits," he clarified, hands on his hips.

"No can do. How do I know you ain't gonna look me up on LifeInvader, break into my house and kidnap me?" I asked, backing away with a grin on my face.

"Oh," he hid an odd smile. " _Now_ I know for certain someone's flirtin' with Uncle T."

"Just doin' my job!" I called back. I whirled around on the heel of my shoe so I didn't have to see the reaction on his face to what I had just said. I was curious, but he would probably turn into just another dim face in a crowded room. It must not have mattered too much. He didn't even give me his name.


	2. Chapter 2

I probably would've slept in if I hadn't rolled over in my sleep and aggravated the bruise on my side. I laid on my back, letting the dull ache radiate in my abdomen as I tiredly stared up at the slowly revolving ceiling fan. The shadows of my plants in the window danced on the ceiling as an outside breeze gently rustled the leaves and cooled the room. The sound of slow traffic passing by was on its way to lulling me back to sleep, but I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. I had things to do. Too much sleep was for the dead and gone.

I forced myself upright against the mattress and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I scratched my head and scrolled through my phone. It was just out of habit now. No one cared enough to check up on me and the one person who used to, I lost a while ago. However, reading mindless Bleeter and LifeInvader posts felt much better than wallowing in self-pity and hatred. My fists tightened by my side, but I shook the feeling away. I'd been okay for this long. There was no going back.

"Let's get going, Jackie," I warned myself. A friend or two would help tremendously for distracting myself but outside of work, I didn't have much patience for socializing. Just like feelings, people come and go. They're all visitors I didn't have to sign for. I learned a long time ago solitude was a good thing, even if it hurt people along the way. At least I wasn't the one hurting. The world was a cruel place, but I swear San Andreas alone had it beat.

After another minute or so, I tossed my phone over my shoulder and pushed away from the mattress. I stretched, opening my bedroom door. MoJo scurried between my legs and leapt onto my unmade bed.

"Down," I ordered with a snap of my fingers. The Siamese cat meowed in protest but complied, jumping down and curling into a ball on the white rug at the foot of the bed. MoJo was as weird as they come, but I couldn't complain. When I moved in, I found him in the bathroom closet, malnourished and anxious. The previous tenant must have left him behind.

I left him be and made my way to the kitchen. Once I had a small pot of coffee brewing, I switched on the television in the living room and took a seat on a stool at the counter. That creeper Lazlow was on-screen, introducing another Fame or Shame contestant probably bound to publicly humiliate themselves. Shaking my head, I switched the channel. I could stomach Weazel News better than I could all the wannabe stars in this town. The glitz and glimmering glam was nice on the eyes, but I bet their chests, if they weren't pumped full of silicone, were still as empty and hollow as their heads. A distracting red, breaking news bulletin darted across the screen, winning over my attention. The brunette sitting behind the desk started reading from a teleprompter somewhere behind the camera.

"A violent break in at a biotech lab in the San Chianski Mountains ended in bloodshed, mayhem and the loss of a formula for cheap perfume. Yesterday, the meticulously planned raid appears to have been carried out by highly skilled professionals, as thieves swam into the facility using diving equipment to access an underwater drainage pipe. Several research scientists and security personnel were killed at the facility which has been attacked by animal welfare activists in the past. The facility was once believed to have been a testing center for chemical and biological weapons, but those rumors have long been dispelled and now the facility tests soaps, high tech face creams and cosmetics. Agents are baffled as to the scale of the raid, as the perfume formula stolen was not considered particularly valuable."

"Los Santos, you just keep gettin' better and better," I stated sarcastically. Since I had moved to the hustling city and decided to actually pay attention to the news broadcasts, I'd heard everything from a high-speed yacht shootout on the freeway to a jewelry store being robbed bare to an explosion in Stab City. I thought that explosion served these no-goods, thieving, motorcycle-riding bastards right in the end. It was only a good thing I ran off when I did. Now criminals were breaking into labs to loot perfume? I doubt it was perfume. The coffee pot beeped then hissed. I cringed against the dull pain in my side as I pushed away from the counter. I stopped the old pot before it could starts its burning.

I poured my coffee in a thermos and grabbed a tiny yogurt cup then padded back to my bedroom. MoJo purred against my legs as I stripped off my pajamas. He followed me into the bathroom and curled alongside the tub's basin as I stepped in and showered. I lifted my right arm to inspect the bruise closer. It was still unsightly, it's purple center a bit lighter than it had been when I went to bed. The only thing I disliked more than the bikers in Blaine County were assholes at the club who felt entitled to an exotic dancer. Even half-naked, if you didn't pay, or if we weren't already well acquainted, none of us owed you a thing. If LSPD wasn't so big on background checks or even did their jobs remotely close to correct, Leon would have probably made me press charges.

As I dried off, I could hear my cell phone vibrating in the other room. MoJo led the way.

"Hello gorgeous. How're you?" I greeted Peach's phone number.

"Forget me. Are you okay?" she immediately shot back.

"I'm okay. You musta heard about what happened yesterday," I said with a sigh.

"You're damn right I did. What's this I see on the schedule about your absence?" she asked. I drew in a deep breath before I explained, hoping she could hear me over the club's music faintly thudding in her background. I hated repeating myself.

"This fucker threw me to the floor then kicked me while I was down and left a bruise. Leon sent me home 'til it's gone."

"That's tough," she replied. "I'm proud of you for not putting hands on the prick."

"I got a job to keep. Some other fella took care of that for me," I quickly added.

"I heard!" her voice rose slightly. "I never expect to hear about a knight in shining armor coming to save an exotic dancer in distress. Hey, you need anything? I can come over when I get off."

There went today's opportunity for social interaction. I found myself shaking my head.

"No, it's alright. I'm headin' out to try and sign up for some classes. After that, I'll probably try to get some rest. I ain't sleepin' too good with this sucker throbbin' all night," I slightly exaggerated.

"Okay. Well you just let me or any of the girl's know. We're all here for one another, you included," she chimed. I let out a quiet "thanks" before hanging up. Since I had became part of the Vanilla Unicorn's "family", all of the girls had relentlessly and unsuccessfully been trying to get the most of me outside of work. I pulled up, clocked in, worked, clocked out, and drove off. They didn't really care for me. I didn't have the patience to join them on their days off where they would pair off and go see movies or out for drinks. I mean, what could I talk about? All I knew was Grand Senora Desert. They had all grown up in Los Santos. Hell, Infernus was from Vinewood Hills and Fufu had left France when she was a teenager.

MoJo meowed loudly, snapping me from my thoughts.

"Okay okay," I urged him. I wiggled into a pair of jeans, pulled a white t-shirt over my head, and slipped into a pair of sandals. My cat followed closely behind as I re-entered the kitchen. I tore open a packet of cat food before dumping it in his bowl alongside his water. He didn't follow me back to the bedroom to retrieve my yogurt and warm thermos.

"I'll be back later. Stay outta trouble," I told MoJo as I left my flat.

It was an hour to noon but the sun was already glaring in a nearly cloudless sky. The tell-tale damp spots hiding in the cracks and crevices of the pavement were the only signs of yesterday's storm. That, and the lingering humidity which was making me immediately regret my decision to wear pants. 'I won't be out long', I thought to myself as I climbed into the Cavalcade.

The almost lunchtime traffic gave me enough time between green lights to enjoy my yogurt and coffee. I turned down Rebel Radio as I, again, neared the college campus in western Los Santos. The lack of students walking the grounds made me slightly anxious. As I rounded a corner, the only car waiting in the student parking lot was the trashed convertible belonging to the girl I helped.

A tow truck came barreling in the lot as I stopped my SUV in a space. The tow truck beeped after it shifted into reverse then began to close the distance between it's rear hook and the water-logged convertible in the corner. I departed my car and started for the mass of buildings across the street when a familiar voice called out to me.

"Jacquelyn!"

I craned my neck and saw the blonde almost fall out of the passenger side of the hefty tow truck.

"Franklin! This is her! Come here!" she called over her shoulder in a shrill voice. A sigh escaped me. She was just as bad as the girls at the club.

"Hey Tracey," I greeted. "I'm a little busy at the-"

"I just want to say thank you again. I was able to talk my boyfriend into hauling it to a shop," she explained.

"That's good," I nodded. A burly man with cocoa with skin approached the two of us.

"You're the one who helped my girl outta her rut yesterday?" he spoke up.

"Indeed," I let out in a hushed tone.

"Frankie, baby. This is Jacquelyn. Jacquelyn, this is my boyfriend, Franklin," Tracey introduced both parties. I shook his extended hand before taking a small, unnoticeable step back. The way she purred the word "boyfriend" past her lips carried weight.

"If I won't working, I would've came, so the least I can do..."

"No way. That ain't necessary," I quickly put up a hand and shook my head as he pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his sweatpants.

"Nah. Here, homie," he insisted. I saw Tracey purse her lips. I started to shake my head again until my eyes caught onto the one-hundred dollar note he was handing over.

"Well, err, thanks," I let out, eyes avoiding his as I stuffed the bill into my back pocket.

"You one of Tracey's classmates?" he questioned.

"No, I'm registering today. Tryin' to, anyway," I added. Sociable, charitable, and he wasn't unpleasant to look at. I could only dream about bumping into someone remotely close to her boyfriend in this city and call him mine. I would have better luck hitting the lottery, but it wasn't like it was a mandatory need either.

"Oh, the registration office is closed today. The whole campus is, actually. We take Saturdays off then come back for the week at one on Sunday afternoons," she explained. I stared blankly for a moment before letting out a cold,

"You're kiddin'."

"No. Sorry," she cringed a little. If I didn't need my thermos, I probably would have sent it flying across the pavement with a swift dropkick. Instead, I let out a deep breath and turned back toward my vehicle. The tow truck pulled out of the lot with the car hitched behind it. I reclaimed my driver's seat, slamming the door shut behind me. My cell phone started ringing in the center console. Slowly, I leaned forward and rest my head on the warm steering wheel. The ringing finally ceased after a few moments. I closed my eyes, relishing in the quiet sounds of wheels on pavement in the distance.

I missed the desert serenity. If I could travel back without being hunted down, I would. My teeth grit together as I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat. I don't know why I lied to myself like that. Nothing was there for me anymore. Nothing but bars that smelled like chewing tobacco and dusty customers who tipped so terribly, I went to bed hungry too often. Why was getting your life together so difficult?


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as I let myself out of ULSA's administration building, I was greeted with the late afternoon's glaring sun.

"Nothin' quite like it," I muttered to myself. I slipped my sunglasses over my eyes and pinched a cigarette between my lips. Having spent the past two hours struggling with an older woman who had zero knowledge of computers, I felt like checking out of life. Despite my impatience and Mrs. Mildred's inability to type efficiently, I was finally a registered college student. My classes would start next week; just in time for a Spring semester.

One of the school's security guards approached just as I stuck a lighter to the end of my cigarette.

"Smoking is prohibited on campus," he stated ."Put that out."

"Bite me. These things cost money," I told him. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him taking a few steps closer.

"Ma'am-"

"I'm goin'. Don't touch me," I warned as I started for the parking lot. Glancing over my shoulder, I found the man still following from a few paces behind. If this is what would be a new nuisance every time I came here, my hair would be turning gray quicker than I could age. After plopping down behind the wheel of my car and shutting the door, I puffed on my nicotine stick like a fiend. I closed my eyes and leaned back in the seat. This city was terrible on your nerves. That same security guard knocked on my passenger window.

"This is my private property!" I yelled through the glass.

"Roll the window down."

"For what? I haven't done nothin'. Step off and go pester someone double-parked or jaywalkin'," I suggested. He pulled a notepad off of his waistband and started scribbling away.

"Are you givin' me a citation? I know you're not givin' me a citation for smokin' in my own car!"

I flung open the door and hopped out. He tucked the paper under my right windshield wiper then took a few cautious steps back as I rounded the vehicle. This city would probably be the death of me ad there was no other way around it.

"You smoke on school grounds, you get a citation. You smoke in your car on school grounds, you get a citation. Look lady, I don't make the rules."

"Fuck you, rent-a-cop," I hissed. I snatched the pale red ticket out of the window, ripped it in half twice then let the wind carry it away.

"That'll be another for littering," he announced.

"You wanna write that one down so I can rip it up too?"

"I've got your plates. Expect them in the mail, whore."

My eyebrows skyrocketed. The slander sent a thousand little, hot needles prickling up and down my spine. My fists clenched tight at my sides.

"Whore?" my voice echoed.

"Yeah. WHORE. I've seen you before. You work at that gentlemen's club. You ain't fooling anybody," he claimed. He talked big but he took a step back for every one I took forward. I stopped myself. I hadn't fought in a long time. I didn't come to the city for fights.

"Me and them other beautiful women workin' that club for you and your pitiful pals with ya shrimp cocks probably earn more money in a day than you make in a week," I exclaimed, starting back for my car. "And you'll be taken care of the next time you show ya face there. I swear, on my brother's grave, you'll be taken care of!"

He took a couple steps backward before disappearing across the street. I was trembling when I reclaimed my seat. My heart hurt in my chest and everything was blurred in my vision. I sucked in a deep breath then slowly exhaled. I wasted no time plucking my waiting cigarette from the ashtray and sticking it between my lips before pulling away from the school. My left leg bounced beneath me as I actively worked to keep calm. I switched on a talk show radio station, listening to drones babble as I sat at a red light.

"Easy Jacquelyn," I warned myself. It drove me bat shit straight up a wall. The nerve of a man, or anyone, to call me- US whores for our choice of occupation. They were the people keeping us in business. We took their money and they wanted to call us whores? Half of our customers were married, settled men who stopped by with their married friends. Oh, but WE were the whores... My cell phone vibrated in its mount on the dashboard. Juliet's face lit up the screen.

"Wherefore art thou, Romeo?" I greeted as I blew smoke out of my nose. I glanced in the review mirror to wipe a visible shine of sweat from my forehead.

"Yeah, cause that'll never get old," she sighed. I could practically hear her eyes rolling.

"What you need, Jules?"

"Boss wants to see you today," she simply stated.

"Tell him I'm busy."

I wanted nothing more than to grab an early dinner and go back home. If I wasn't working, I hated being anywhere near the club.

"Busy doing what?"

"Not fightin', not hospitalizin' city folk, not goin' back to jail."

"Who was it this time?" she knowingly asked. My reputation was such shit. I almost laughed.

"Just some fuckin' security officer. I got a ticket for smokin'."

"You need to quit. It's bad for your health," she advised.

It was my time to roll my eyes. Fast food was bad for your health, but you never saw Surgeon General's warning on a burger or fries.

"What's Leon want?"

"Oh, it's not Leon," she chirped. "We are under new management. He wants to meet all the girls. We've been trying to get a hold on you since yesterday. I know you've seen us calling."

I nodded. I needed more than both hands to count how many calls I had denied and ignored in the past twenty-four hours. But new management? Leon had always stood up for every girl who worked the Vanilla Unicorn and he had pulled so many strings for me.

"Where is Leon? Is he there?"

"No one's heard from him. His phone's off too. Mr. T told us he saw an ad online and took it," she explained.

"Mr. T?" I scoffed. "With a name like that, he don't sound like someone Leon would even give water to."

"Not like that's any of our business. As long as we're still getting paid, I wouldn't go and make a big fuss about it," Juliet insisted.

"We'll see. I'm on my way."

I hooked into a quick U-turn at the next intersection before making my way South. Part of me hoped Mr. T was naive and dimmer than Leon. Perhaps I could sweet talk him into letting me work again as soon as possible. The only evidence left of my assault were bright red streaks of discoloration on the skin between each rib. It sort of looked like someone had tried to press the side of me against a panini maker for a few milliseconds. I knew it would be gone for good in a day or so. Sitting at home at night wasn't the norm for me. Last night, I went to the movies and sat through two showing of The Loneliest Robot In Great Britain by myself. I had seen worse.

When I turned into the lot belonging to the club, I scowled at a rusted red pick-up truck parked sideways, taking up the two reserved spaces closest to the entrance. With a shake of my head, I pulled into one of the spaces around the back of the building.

"Afternoon Jackie," the guard at the door greeted.

"Hey Luis. What's this I hear about someone taking over? Where's Leon?" I asked, lowering my voice. He stretched his shoulders then shrugged.

"Don't know. No one can get in contact with him. His phone goes straight to voicemail. This guy showed up yesterday, covered head to toe in blood, and made himself known. He went right to the back to talk to Leon, then came back and said quote it's done unquote. Papers were signed and everything. I didn't even know we were up for sale," Luis explained.

"Wait. He was covered in blood? And you just let him walk right in?"

"I wasn't working. This is just what I heard. They said he was calm about it, like he didn't even notice it."

I shook my head.

"Don't even worry about it. You need to go see him. He seems level headed. He's talked to all the staff, but you and I don't think he likes waiting."

I scoffed in his direction.

"This Mr. T character will wait if I make him," I snapped before making my way inside.

Things still looked the same. Tables were occupied. Music was blasting. Everyone was preoccupied with something, per usual. Chastity was on stage while Sapphire and Infernus were working the floor. I was supposed to be up there.

"Can you tell the DJ to play some horror-core?" a voice came as I neared the staircase. I looked back to find two, unfamiliar women in lingerie rubbing all over a guy with piercing every which way out of his face. He looked at me funny until I cut my eyes in his direction.

"About time," Sapphire spoke up from behind me. She had a small, elderly man by the hand.

"I'm just the talk of the town, ain't I? Where's Mr. T?"

"In the office," she stated, pulling the man along toward the area where we gave our private dances.

"Be careful. You might give him a heart attack," I joked.

"Then I'll have died happy," the man managed to let out before the duo disappeared to a private booth. The older customers were the real charmers. I laughed to myself, heading straight for the back of the establishment. I knocked on the door of Leon's office and a rough voice, certainly not belonging to Leon, responded.

"Who is it?"

"You've been wantin' to see me?" I answered. A set of footsteps crossing the room could barely be heard over the club's music. The door flung open and a faintly familiar pair of wild, amber eyes glared down at me. It wasn't anywhere near who I had thought I would see. I was just glad I wasn't face to face with someone covered head to toe in blood.

"Hello gorgeous," he greeted, a beer in his hand.

"You're Mr. T?" I asked, baffled. I didn't think I would run into him ever again after he got himself thrown out.

"Mr. T, Sir, Boss, Trevor. Call me what you like, baby," he explained. "Come in."

He stepped out of the way to let me into the stuffy office. Everything still looked the same.

"Where's Leon?" I asked for what feld like the hundredth time that day.

"Took a vacation. Have a seat," he gestured to the couch against the wall then opened the refrigerator in the corner. He offered a beer in my direction.

"I don't drink," I stated, putting up a hand. "What'd you wanna see me for?"

"I want us to get better acquainted. You know, management to its personnel. Establish healthy workplace relationships. I mean, I already knocked out one dickhead for you. I think we're off to a great start, Jacquelyn."

I pursed my lips at the way he said my name. He took a seat in the swivel chair behind the desk and kicked up his feet.

"All that matter is I make you your money, right? Leon took me off the times table for a week. Put me back on and our relationship should flourish," I claimed.

"Eager to work, I like it, but unlike so many selfish pricks out there - I actually give a shit about my people and my friends," he explained, a hint of aggression slipping into his tone.

"We're friends?" I voiced, an eyebrow slightly raised. Without missing a beat, he snatched open one of the desk drawers and withdrew a pale yellow folder.

"Jacquelyn Townsend, also known as Cinnamon. Born in beautiful Blaine County, but you moved to this rat-infested city last year for personal reasons. You live in an small condo in Alta. You enjoy hiking in the mountains, bonfires on the beach, and going out with friends."

I slightly cringed at the last one. I had kissed so much ass to get this job. I had almost forgot I'd spent a solid two weeks pretending to like everyone. I had even taken home a few men's phone numbers in front of Leon. I didn't call a single one of them.

"I knew I'd get your name one way or another," he claimed. "Take your top off."

"EXCUSE-"

"I mean, let me see your bruise. I read somewhere that's why you ain't out there workin' tonight. Lemme see. Matter of fact..."

He got up and closed the office door.

"Take it all off. When's the last time Leon gave you all an inspection?"

"You get one when you first get the job. That's the only important one. If I've already got the job, what do you need to see that you ain't already gonna see whenever I get on-stage?" I fired back. Just days ago, this man had been a customer and now he was to be my boss and give commands?

"Jackie... C'mon," he quietly urged, stepped over. He stopped just short of where I sat. I crossed my legs, eyes boring into his. He nodded once, his arms open. I cocked my head to the side and raised an eyebrow. He planted his tattooed hands on the hips of his dirty jeans and rumbled out a throaty,

"Jacquelyn."

When I didn't budge, he wagged a finger in my direction and turned away.

"You really are from the county. Stubborn prick," he complained although he did let out a laugh. I flashed a cheeky grin, feeling accomplished.

"The others, they didn't bat an eyelash before they were down to their skivvies. It was beautiful. Anyway, back to business. I gotta see that bruise before I can put you back on the schedule. I ain't running just any kinda business here," he explained. I noticed his eyes soften when I stood and lifted the hem of my t-shirt. He gently took my arm, leading us over to brighter lighting. Goosebumps dotted my skin as the calloused tips of his fingers glided over my rib cage.

"It hurt?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Put some ice on it before you go to sleep tonight and I'll put you on the schedule for tomorrow night," he explained.

"Fuck yes," I sighed, relieved. I dropped my shirt and clapped my hands together in front of my face.

"That's the cheeriest I've seen you since the night we met," he noted.

"Cinnamon and Jackie are two completely different people and today's been a rough day," I said. He appeared interested. I was started to feel watched again and I wasn't too sure how to feel about it.

"Well, what happened?" he pried. I shook my head.

"You read a whole file on me. What about you, Mr. T? You never exactly told me if you were from the county or not?" I tried, hoping to shift the focus away from me.

"Ain't it obvious?" he held open his arms again. "I eat, shit, and breathe Sandy Shores."

It made sense now. The obscene tattoos, uneven tan lines, ragtag demeanor, and Fuck It attitude. I had heard about him. It had been a while, but this could only be right. He was THE Trevor Philips. I swallowed hard. He was my boss now. If the things I had heard about him were true, I could tell him the truth about my old life in the county and hope he'd keep it in the past. It was either that, or he would kill me right where I stood. Going along with the stories I had heard, the latter had a better chance of happening.

With my classes starting and my return to work imminent, staying silent was the smartest decision. I nodded again, keeping in on him.

"What drove you out of the desert?"

"Same as you. Work," he stated.

"What do you do? I mean, besides smash shards of glass into the faces of grown men?"

"You sound like you resent me..."

"I'm not sure yet."

The room slipped into a stiff silence. I aimed my eyes at the speckled floor beneath us. The bass line of the club's soundtrack was barely audible, the treble vibrating within the walls. I heard him inhale then his phone's shrill ringing broke the quiet.

"Speak," he answered. "Uh huh. Got it. Jackie?"

I glanced his way. He pointed to the door.

"Gotta talk business with a few pals. We'll finish our little interview another time."

"Whatever you say, Mr. T," I said on my way out of the room. Halfway down the hall, the office door thudded against the wall as it swung open again and light poured in behind me.

"New number one rule, sugar tits! Always wear match your underwear with your panties, twenty-four, seven!" he announced. I turned back around to shot him a peculiar look.

"You don't think that's a little excessive? And how would you know if I weren't matching?"

"Random inspections," he said before slamming the door shut again. I shook my head, turning on my heel only to bump into someone as I pushed through the purple curtains that lead back into the club.

"'scuse me," I muttered.

"My bad," the man put his hands on my shoulders to guide me out of the way.

"Jacquelyn?"

"What?" I brushed myself off and looked up to see Tracey's boyfriend gawking down at me.

"What're you doing here?" I quickly hissed, disappointed in him. He had seemed so perfect.

"I could ask you the same thing," he shot back. I looked down at myself only to be reminded that I wasn't on the clock and that I was fully clothed.

"I just finished getting a lap dance," I quickly lied.

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

"I can enjoy a woman's body just as much as the next guy," I said with a shrug. "What about your girlfriend? Why're you here?"

"I'm meeting a friend. He just bought out this place apparently," he claimed. What did a quiet guy like Franklin have to do to have friends like Trevor? I gulped. And as much as I wanted to berate him for being in such a place while in a relationship with such a dense and nice, girl I wouldn't. If he didn't know why I was actually there, I would just pretend I hadn't seen him. Man. I hadn't hit anyone today. I was getting better and better at keeping the peace these days.

"Just be careful," I told him before walking away. The door to the club opened before I could even touch it. I cupped a hand over my brow to help focus against the evening sun as I stepped outside.

"Hey beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thanks, but no," I dismissed the man holding the door open for me.

"Maybe another time?" he suggested.

"Maybe," I shot over my shoulder. I glanced back only to see it was the same, married man who had been with Trevor the night I was assaulted. He was wearing another suit.

"I'll get you any drink you want if you wait. I'm just meeting a few friends. My pal T in here?" he asked. I nodded, quickly hurrying around to escape the man and confide in the solace of my car. I needed to get home, crawl into bed and sleep. I had over-socialized for the day, seen far too many familiar faces in this expanse of a city, and worn out wasn't the word.


	4. Chapter 4

"One...and two...and three...and four, five, six, seven EIGHT! Let's go ladies! Get those legs up higher. I can't hear you!"

My fellow Zumba class members let out squeals of delight.

"Just sixty more seconds! Give it all you've got!"

I shook away the numbness in my fingertips and pushed myself to follow every one of Coach Mistie's moves from the front of the studio. I hated Zumba, but Leon had insisted all the girls enroll in the class to stay in shape. I never saw any of them in my sessions. A single bead of sweat dripped from the tip of my nose and landed on the damp mat beneath my squeaky tennis shoes. I rather enjoyed the treadmill and weight lifting at the gym. Maybe with Leon on vacation I could end this charade of power dancing inside a room, surrounded by middle-aged soccer mothers, and their mothers, to resume my solitudinous preference. Yesterday's meeting with the infamous Trevor Philips left me with the impression that as long as everyone still earned his profit, he wouldn't mind.

The upbeat song that had spent the last hour playing on a loop finally gave way to something slower. The majority of women around me clapped and cheered. Some immediately made their way to exits and locker rooms. I gave my legs and arms a quick stretch before swiping up my blue mat. Coach Mistie paused in rolling up her own gear as I approached.

"Jackie. Good work this evening. I've been meaning to talk with you," she remarked.

"Oh. Well, you first," I gestured.

"After today, your membership expires. Are you renewing or are you cheating on me with another gym?" she joked with a smile.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. I'm starting school soon and my classes conflict with your sessions and my work. I've got to go back to hitting the gym on my own time," I explained. She frowned slightly.

"Well, to each their own. Least you'll keep your body moving. Which gym will you be checking into? Maybe you can teach me a few things," she suggested.

"The B.J. Smith rec center in Chamberlain hills. They're open 24/7."

"Isn't it a little dangerous over there? Would offering a discount perhaps sway you in your decision to renew your contract?"

"'fraid not, coach."

"I see. I'll look that place up. You just keep trucking. Congrats on continuing with your education as well," she quietly applauded. Before she could start another conversation, I nodded meekly then started for the locker room. I would be back at work in just a few hours, but I had something else on my to-do list beforehand. My world finally felt like it was spinning right side up again. I could only hope I would be able to keep the pace up and steady with classes on top of everything. It had been a long while since I had been anywhere near a school. I tucked the sticky mat beneath my arm and headed for the locker room. Most of the shower heads were occupied, but once I stripped off my damp clothes, I managed to squeeze beneath a running head in the corner and get a good lather of soap onto my skin.

"Hey!"

I stuck my head under the faucet, letting the warm water pelt my face.

"You, with the tattoo on your arm."

I let out a deep sigh then rubbed the water from my eyes, turning to face the majority of the women bathing around me. A few turned away once I revealed a slight scowl at the interruption.

"What's your name, dear?" one questioned. She was shorter than me, the top of her head reaching maybe only the curve of my shoulder. If it weren't for the grayish-white hair atop her head, I probably would have ignored her, but you just don't disrespect the elderly.

"Jacquelyn," I answered.

"Well Jacquelyn, I'm Michelle. This here is Tina..." she gestured to the older woman beside me who shot a small nod in my direction. I mimicked the gesture after tilting the shower head away from my face.

"We don't know each other well, but you motivate Tina and I every session," Tina claimed. "You're stunning and we were wondering... Well, we were wondering if you could lend us some of your tips?"

"Oh."

I began to rinse away the suds on my frame.

"Uh, small meals. Tons of water. On top of these classes, I go to the gym. It's all about self-discipline, really," I explained as best I could. The deal breaker was the physical conditioning of my job, but I couldn't lay that on the table for these women. They sort of...admired me and stripping was no decent profession, to most.

"I haven't been your size since I was in high school. Are you on any special diets?"

"No, ma'am, I am not," I flatly responded. It felt like all the silent eyes in the room were dancing all over me. I was used to feeling such a way, but usually for different reason. This was probably the most I had said to anyone in this place ever. I turned off my shower and meandered between the women.

The temperature difference between the communal showers and the locker room was enough to make me grit my teeth. Goosebumps dotted my flesh even after I had hurriedly towel dried and stepped into a pair of jeans. I gathered my hair into a wet bun, pulled on the worn and stained "Welcome to LS" hoodie I had bought with my first ever Vanilla Unicorn paycheck, and swiftly exited the studio.

There was something beautiful about the area near Mirror Park at this time of day. Making it an hour or so before sunset, the sun hung heavy in the cloudless, sherbet orange sky. The trinket and health food shops were beginning to close. An abundance of SUVs and obnoxious smart cars puttered and whizzed past the corner as I waited for the "GO" at a crosswalk. I had a little over an hour before I was to clock in now. As soon as the miniature, green man beckoned me to cross the road, I jogged for my truck waiting in an alley. I tossed my duffelbag in the backseat, started the engine and headed for the start of Vinewood Boulevard.

The lights and the vast majority of shops were enough to hypnotize and sidetrack a tourist. When I had been fresh out of the county, I fell for the lure of this place. I didn't have two dimes to my name, but I stared into shop windows and gawked at the lack of heart this place contained. It had always been just enough to make me long for the county, a place where passion and hard work went a long way, but I knew I couldn't go back. I shook the rain cloud of a thought out of my head as I pulled into a space just outside of what looked like a drug store wedged between the tattoo shop and a liquor store. The wide, neon lights and metal bars over the windows gave it away once you took your face out of your phone and paid enough attention.

I pushed through the glass door and was immediately greeted by the expected scent of latex and the sound of MDC's "John Wayne Was A Nazi" playing over the loudspeakers.

"Yo! Jackie! What is up, babe?" the woman behind the register greeted. She wasted no time with leaping over the counter and wrapping me in a tight hug. I sputtered as her mess of purple hair smothered my face. She pressed her lips to my left cheek then pulled away with a loud smacking noise, leaving me to stand there, blushing.

"Babe! Jackie's in the spot!" she announced.

"Did you fucking kiss her again?" came a masculine voice from a place unseen.

"She did," I answered quickly. A moment later, a man came marching out of a storage closet. His head came a few inches shy of the low ceiling. He barrelled in my direction, one ridiculously massive, lime green dildo in each of his hands. I tried not to laugh. The cashier took off running, choosing to tuck herself behind the register once more.

"It's not like she doesn't like it," she beamed, obviously pleased with herself. I was beyond amused. My cheeks were still burning. Ren and Calvin were about the closest people I had to calling "friends" in the city. They were both in their late thirties, but with the facial piercings, bold tattoos and obscure hair, you wouldn't have been able to tell it. They had been running this shop together when I met them and who knew how long they had been married. Even to the influx of customers they received once the sun went down, their honeymoon phase seemed never ending. It would, eventually. That's what I told myself in order to feel less alone and unsatisfied everything I visited to replace an ensemble a coworker of mine had borrowed indefinitely. I never asked for them back.

"Can I interest you in some fuzzy handcuffs? Cherry flavored lube?"

"No thanks, Calvin. I'm here for the usual," I replied while I disappeared between the rows of XXX-rated films, ball gags, vibrators, leashes, and whips. Immediately, a bleach white lace thong caught my attention hanging in a row against the back wall. I snatched it up and started the search for a matching bra.

The brass bell over the bell jingled as other customers entered the business. Ren and Calvin greeted them accordingly. I spotted the matching bra on a higher rank and kicked the step stool out of the corner to reach it.

"Jackie? Oh my gosh, hiiiii!"

Glancing over my shoulder from my exposed position a foot or so off the ground, I caught sight of the girl from school scurrying my way. I stepped down with a sigh.

"Tracey...hey..." I cautiously greeted, lingerie clutched tight by my side. I didn't mind being seen here. I hated being recognized.

"This is my friend, Elizabeth," Tracey gestured to the brunette standing by her side. "Elizabeth, this is my friend, Jackie."

So we were friends?

"What're you doing here?" she continued.

"Shoppin'," I curtly answered.

"Oh, good. You think you ca help me pick something out. I'm going on Fame Or Shame for a second time tomorrow. I'm looking for something that'll hold up for the show and the possibility of a little, y'know celebration afterward with Frankie. You seem like you have good taste. Who's the lucky guy?"

She gestured to the merchandise I had in a death grip. I glanced at her friend pecking away on her cellular device. Shouldn't she be helping instead?

"Err, I actually gotta get goin'. I gotta be at work soon," I anxiously insisted. In a city this vast, I didn't expect to run into this girl again outside of maybe school.

"It'll only take a sec. Pretty ple-"

"REN!" Calvin boomed. "Two lovely ladies need your expertise!"

He had popped his head around the corner and noticed my distress.

"Coming, coming!" Ren sang. As she brushed past, she patted my backside and pushed me toward the front of the store.

"Get her rung up, Cal. Thanks, babe."

"She'll press charges for sexual assault one of these days!" Calvin called back to his wife before turning his attention to me at the counter.

"Tracey's a regular customer. She can be slightly overbearing. Daddy issues," he explained, voice low. "You find everything you need?"

I placed the white lingerie set on the counter.

"You wish you were this pure," he laughed, scanning the bar codes and shoving my merchandise into a brown paper bag.

"Thanks," I let out with a snicker before departing the store. I had to slip a cigarette between my lips as I headed South through the darkened city. Dark gray clouds were beginning to block the deep blue sky overhead. We would be in for a thunderstorm later. Even through the smoke beneath my nose, I could smell the rain to come. The scent wasn't as strong as it rolled in over the county, what with the smog and pollution hovering the further South you traveled, but it enough. I could only hope the club wouldn't lose power and, if we did, hopefully Trevor would know Leon's means of fixing it.

"Mr. T," I blew smoke out of my nose and corrected myself out loud. The name rattled bones from Mount Chiliad to Bolingbroke Penitentiary to bustling Paleto Bay. But he was Mr. T to me and the girls. I doubt any of them knew of his reputation and they didn't need that fear instilled in them or interfering with work.

"And we are live," I whispered, pulling into the parking lot. I snubbed my smoke beneath my sandal and entered the club, brown bag and duffel in tow.

"About fucking time! Thought we'd never see you back at work," the woman just inside the door greeted as I approached the window to clock-in.

"You and me both," I agreed. The short pixie cut fell into her eyes as she leaned over to sign my paper. The pistol holstered to her hip glistened under the light flickering above her seat.

"Welcome back," she finished off, handing over my stub.

"Sounds like I died," I scoffed.

"You almost did," she exaggerated. I laughed, turning away. Bruised ribs wasn't the worst to happen to me.

"Every time I try to leave, they just push me back down again and give me another dance... Hey, I remember you!"

I paused in my tracks, locking eyes with the young man with dirty dreads atop his head. I swear he was wearing the same thing I had saw him yesterday.

"I'm sorry?" I tried.

"You. I used to see you at the Yellow Jack Inn and your brother with The Lost-"

Hearing those words sent a chill down my spine.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about. You musta got me confused for somebody else," I breathed, then briskly started away before he could put my face to a name in his poisoned brain. I knew who he was, but everything had been wound up this long. There was no need for it to unravel now. Tonight was my first night back at work in almost a week. I had to focus.

Sapphire entered the dressing room from the stage, a sly smile on her face.

"Glad to see you doing better," she cheered as I tugged off my clothes. We both cast glances down to my rib cage where the bruise had cleared up with time.

"You're up after me," Infernus chimed as she started down the hall leading toward the stage. Time was crunched. I'd have to go barefaced. Not like anyone would notice with their eyes glued on my assets. I snatched someone's blow dryer from the makeup counter, giving my hair a ginger tousle for its normal curls and volume. Wasting little time, I stepped into the white lingerie I had bought not an hour ago. Calvin was right, I thought as I surveyed myself in the mirror. None of the girls ever wore all white. Black, blue, even orange or purple, and varying shades of pink and red danced about. White felt like a lie in this place, a tease, a secret. Regardless, someone would like it.

I pulled my white pumps on and shook the jitters from my body. This never made me nervous, but something felt different. Something important. I bopped in place in front of the mirror, working myself up. The crowd let out a few whistles and moments later, Infernus reappeared. Amerie's "1 Thing" thudded against the thick walls of the club.

"Got them all worked up for you, babes," she grinned. The music faltered slightly.

"A little spicy, a little sweet - she's the kinda girl you gotta meet. Give it up for Cinnamon!" the DJ announced, then returned the tune to its regular volume. I flipped my hair over my shoulder before pulling the red curtain to the side and stepping out. The nerves immediately wrinkled themselves out of the picture as I sauntered down the velvet catwalk and halted just before the metal pole before me.

"You angel! You fucking angel! Shake it!"

"Lemme see what you working with, mami!"

"I'm tryna take care of you. Let daddy take you home!"

I focused on the catcalls and whistles, using them to amp my performance in hopes of earning enough to make up for time lost. The stage, situated above the crowd, felt hot and more humid than usual as I dipped and swayed to the beat. I sent out a few winks and made sure to play with my lips. Peach sent a thumbs up my way through the hazy room. I ascended the slick pole then slid back down using just my arms. I felt drunk up there, pivoting and popping out everything my mother had genetically blessed me with. A man got up from his table to lean against the rail which encompassed our stage. I was starting to sweat but the dollar bills were fluttering down and that's all that mattered. I gyrated against the floor, ignoring the burn of my knees against the polished yet glitter-specked linoleum. Dollar bills crunched beneath my heels and I could only wonder if Mr. T was watching any of us, whether somewhere in the crowd or from the monitors behind the desk in his office.

"You look like a fuckin' angel," an authoritative voice stood out toward my right. I craned my neck from my spot on the floor and recognized a familiar face. Mr. T's married friend. He still wore a suit, his salt and pepper hair and shoulders of his tailored jacket flecked with raindrops. He tossed a handful of dollar bills at my feet. I crawled my way over to him. The sweet creases at the corners of his eyes stood out as he smiled.

"I want you," he requested. Playfully biting my lip and spinning on my heel, I wound my hips in his direction.

"Quit hogging, man!" another complained from across the stage. Mr. T's friend cast him a long, cold stare before locking eyes with me and tossing another handful of bills. I giggled. The music volume lowered slightly and I knew my time was up as the last chorus of the too-familiar song began to play. Leaving the spotlight was bittersweet.

"Don't worry, beautiful. I got 'ya," he let out. I flashed a smile at the man in the suit and sent the room a sultry look before disappearing behind the curtains.

"YES. You'd better WORK!" Peach cheered as I brushed past her backstage. I dabbed at my forehead with a towel, waiting for my heart to slow. The muscles in my arms and legs were starting to burn, but the night was young and it looked like a good one.

The man in the suit was waiting for me at the bottom of the carpeted stairs when I re-entered the club. Two twenty-dollar bills were folded in his extended hand.

"Follow me," I beckoned with a finger as I disappeared beneath the bright blue "Premium Lounge" sign. A bouncer stepped to the side, granting the two of us access to the private dance area. The DJ began to play "Bad Girls", one of my favorites. I gestured to the thick arm chair in the last booth and he plopped himself down. Feeling playful, I turned my back to him and unclasped my bra. I tossed it over my shoulder then heard him let out a laugh.

"You wanna see the girls?" I taunted, peeking back.

"Fucking-A right I do. Let me see those beauties," he sounded so eager. I slowly revealed myself, hands on my wide hips. He looked like a sleepy kid on Christmas.

"I know a real pair of tits when I see them," he remarked, cracking another Vinewood-perfect smile. I cupped both of my breasts in my hands, putting on a show.

"Jesus... What's your name, gorgeous?" he questioned. I lowered myself to his lap, my back to his chest, and whispered right in his ear,

"Cinnamon."

"Is that the name the government gave ya?"

"Sure."

My hands ran down his chest before resting on his upper thighs. He reached for my wrist and I whirled around. The edge of my ass just brushed his kneecaps when I felt his hot hands grab my waist. I placed my own hands over his and smoothly pulled away to stand.

"Don't be a tease," he seemed to whine.

"No touchin', baby," I warned. "Three strikes and you're out."

"New management, new rules," he informed. I looked the smug man right in his bright eyes until he broke our gaze. His attention diverted to my bare chest.

"Okay," I went along with it, trying to remain professional. I had already been paid. If he was lying, a bouncer would point it out when he checked on us during his rounds.

"You're not gonna let me get your name, are you?" he spoke up. I shook my head, resuming my dancing. In the dim room, I straddled his lap and met his eyes as he actively fought to stare back.

"What do you go by, sir?"

"Michael," he answered, his hands snaking up and down my abdomen. I held back a shudder at the unfamiliar contact.

"You feel so good, Michael," I forced out as I gyrated and wriggled before him. He fidgeted.

"What do you say I go home with you after this?" he proposed. I went frigid.

"I ain't one to sleep around," I explained.

"Baby, no. You're kidding," he groaned.

"Sorry, hun."

"Not even if I made it worth your while?" he tried. His knuckles brushed my thigh and I felt the holler of temptation as a long forgotten twitch made itself known between my thighs. I wondered if this was how the others made their extra cash or if it was just for personal entertainment.

"Hm? What you thinking?" he asked. His hands came down over my backside and gave a good squeeze, jarring me from my thoughts. I licked my lips, smirking down at him.

"What about the wife I heard about?"

"A stripper with morals... I like it," he noted. The song in the background ended and I knew I had to pry myself away from the handsome stranger. It was just business, I tried to convince myself as my eyes darted back and forth between his clear, blue eyes. Feeling someone's hands on me rattled something that had been dormant for quite some time now.

"MICHAEL!"

I jumped from his lap. He let out a deep sigh. Light flooded the private room as the switch was flipped.

"Whoa OH, Jac-que-lyn," the rough voice pronounced. Trevor stood opposite the both of us, his eyes dancing all over.

"White? Ain't seen that too often. I like it," he remarked.

"T, what're you doing? I'm busy," his friend griped.

"We gotta talk. Lester's in a taxi on the way over," he explained, closing the space between us. I crossed my arms over my breasts, suddenly feeling extremely exposed.

"I already got a good look, sugartits. Townley's done here. Go back to work," he ordered. I avoided his blazing eyes, snatching my bra as he offered it over, then scurrying from the small booth. Out on the club floor, I felt like I could breathe again. A few hands slipped dollar bills into my bra and garter as I sauntered around. Michael. His name was Michael and I could still feel his warm, strong hands on my thighs, sides, and ass. I knew married men had to come and go in this place like birds, but they weren't as obvious. A lot of them took off their rings. Most of them didn't have companions like Mr. T, who put Michael's business on the street like it was unwanted furniture.

Three private dances and who knew how many single bills later, I was smiling to myself as I sat in the dressing room counting the nights earnings. There was no ache in my side. I'd be going home to my bed and MoJo soon. It felt good having something to look forward to. I used a calculator on the counter to filter out Mr. T's cut before wrapping the bills in a rubber band and starting for his office. The door was closed, so I knocked.

"Well hellooooo there," a man with glasses, a plaid shirt, and a walking cane greeted.

"Who is it?" I heard Mr. T asked. The man with the glasses looked me from head to toe before shouting over his shoulder,

"One with real tits."

I looked down at my chest, wishing I had at least gotten dressed in actual clothes before handling business.

"That narrows it down to three. Let her in," Mr. T declared. The door creaked as it was pulled wider, revealing Michael sitting on the raggedy couch and Mr. T rising to his feet behind the desk. All three of them had beers in their hands. Bottles littered the floor.

"Hello again, Cinnamon. Or should I say Jacquelyn?" Michael greeted. I huffed.

"Ignore this shit head here. What you got for me?" Trevor inquired. I handed over the cash and a wicked grin spread across his weathered face. I could hear their handicapped friend heavily breathing just behind me.

"Goodie goodie. See you tomorrow. Drive safe," Mr. T dismissively claimed.

"Remember what we talked about. I, too, will see you tomorrow," Michael spoke up as I started to leave the office.

"What'd you two possibly talk about? How big of a piece of lard you are, huh?" I heard Mr. T hiss before the room erupted with boisterous laughter and the door shut behind me. The Trevor Philips everyone constantly heard so much about in the desert seemed to be completely different from the man I worked for. I wondered what all had happened since I left the decrepit place.

Choosing to deal with that curiosity another day, I pried off the lingerie and slipped into my decent clothes. I stared down at the white, skimpy fabric then confidently shoved it down into my duffelbag to take home. Even if it looked like a lie in a business like this, everyone liked white.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me.

I had forgotten just how annoying alarms sounded before noon. It was nine in the morning, meaning the public library in Little Seoul I had looked up before passing out last night was opening its doors for the day. It was one out of two places I could purchase the textbooks everyone needed for class. Purring incessantly, MoJo wasted no time curling himself around my ankles once I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

"Okay. Gimme a minute," I complained, rubbing my eyes until I saw stars. I slapped the "OFF" button on top of the beeping device on my bedside table then trudged my way to the bathroom down the short hall.

"Gotta move quicker than this if you wanna get your hand on a book in decent condition," I warned myself. I plopped onto the cold toilet seat and rubbed my eyes again. MoJo came sauntering around the doorframe, entering the tiny room.

"Can I help you?" I asked to his unblinking, green stare. He was the first pet I had personally owned in my entire life, so I could never tell if his behavior was abnormal or not. I was used to being watched by men and sometimes even women, but a cat? I hadn't always been keen on pets, but I managed to tolerate MoJo's nonsense just like I did every other human being.

As routine, I brewed a cup of joe in the kitchen and plopped down on the sofa with my drink and a toasted bagel half. I relaxed against the thick cushion of the burgundy, velvet loveseat and found myself mindlessly flipping through channels until I saw a familiar face.

"God, I'm so nervous. I might pee," Tracey let out. "Shit! I mean, not shit. Anyway, this is a song I wrote about someone... Sort of about whether girls like us end up as scholars...or strippers."

I cringed and swallowed hard. She finally stopped her stammering and took up what looked like the most uncomfortable stance ever before the music started playing.

"Hey Daddy. What happened to you and me? I've heard sorry before. Get-up, get-out. The lives you break and don't hesitate. Don't want to become a hoe oh-oh..." she sang. I clapped a hand to my forehead as she arched her back and jutted out her body in the skimpy blue outfit she must have bought from Calvin and Ren's shop after I left. The sleazy TV show host, Lazlow, had his eyes all over her. I felt nauseated. She'd made herself so vulnerable. Why was nobody stopping her?

"Out of control, this crazy ride. Can't take it any more oh-oh. Hey! Hey! Hey! I might need more therapy! Hey! Hey! Hey-"

I swiped up the remote and quickly changed the channel. My head shook back and forth, an odd mix of disgust and pity weighing heavy in my gut. On one hand, Tracey didn't need to carry on like that for hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, to see. I wasn't that much older, but she felt sort of like a kid in my eyes. On the other hand, at least the young woman was expressing herself. Calvin hadn't been joking when he mentioned "Daddy issues" at the sex shop, but I had no room to talk. I had never even met mine. Besides, Tracey could have been coping in ways much worse than singing it to the public. If the drug trade in Los Santos was as heavy as it was in Blaine County, then yes... Tracey could have been coping much worse.

Again, I shook my head in an attempt to physically rid myself of the disgust. When I turned fourteen, I finally gathered up the courage to ask my mom about Dad. She simply wrote down an address that was right there in Grapeseed. When I got out of school the next day, I walked to the address and immediately recognized the ramshackle house. It was where drug deals were made and the fiends smoked, snorted, and shot up whatever they could get their hands on. I tucked my tail and ran home, unable to face whether my dad was an addict who ruined his life or a dealer who helped people ruin theirs.

I let out a sigh, feeling a tough pit forming in my chest. I stood, stretched and prepared for the day ahead. I ran my toothbrush over my teeth a few times, pulled my dark hair into a ponytail before stepping into a pair of shorts and a tank top. The sun warmed my entire apartment and it wasn't even high in the sky yet. It would be one of those days. I sat down MoJo's food and locked the door behind me.

"Morning Ms. Townsend."

I glanced back to find the landlord unlocking the door to the laundromat beneath my apartment.

"Hey, Dr. Mayor," I greeted back with an air. I disliked this man. All six of his tenants did. I often listened to the others gossip and bitch about him while they did their laundry below me.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" he continued, staring a bit too hard for my liking.

"Indeed," I quietly agreed, popping open my driver's door and hastily climbing inside before he started a conversation. Outside of my head, the drive remained quiet. I had the radio off and my window down, listening to the sounds of Los Santos. Helicopter blades beat from somewhere overhead. A woman's harsh tone could be heard cursing at someone over the honking of horns. Two motorcycles drove past, their engines cracking and roaring. I knew I didn't have to, but I tensed anyway. I pulled into the mostly empty parking lot and entered the quiet building.

"Hi," I approached a desk receptionist who lifted her eyes from her computer screen with the speed of a tortoise. The woman didn't even respond, instead her doe eyes expectantly waiting for a question. Talk about occupational complacency. I shifted uncomfortably on my feet.

"Where're the textbooks? The ones to rent for the college courses?"

"In the left wing. Use the reference numbers on the class schedule provided by your school," she hurriedly let out before locking eyes with the computer's glowing screen. I politely nodded and meandered my way through the hushed, expansive building. The bookcases were painted a deep shade of brown and were as wide as they were tall. One man ascended a creaking ladder to tuck away several novels. I spotted a few columns labeled 'TEXTBOOKS' and disappeared between them. After fetching my schedule from the bag on my shoulder, I quickly found the materials I needed for my courses - Calculus, Introduction and Fundamentals of Management, and a paperback workbook titled Rouster's Manual for Marketing & Accounting.

Feeling the weight of my classes in my hand, I grew excited with that was to come. The skills I had learned in the county about how business worked were sloppy and illegal. I enjoyed the night life, but I wouldn't be able to work at the club forever. I often dreamed of opening my own business and being my own boss for once. Yeah, that'd put me in the right direction.

I slipped past a group of people flocking toward the textbooks and was headed for the checkout desk when Tracey caught my eye. She was sitting alone at a long table. Various books were open in front of her, but she had her head in her hands. The cringe-worthy Fame Or Shame performance I had watched earlier flashed through my head and I found myself starting for her direction.

"Tracey?"

She looked my way then quickly pulled the hood of her jacket over her head. I stood across from her and sat my book down.

"You okay?" I inquired.

"You saw it, didn't you?" she grumbled. I toyed with the cover of one of my books.

"What? No. I don't know what you're talkin' about. I don't even..."

She sent me an irritated look and I let out a sigh.

"I caught a rerun this morning. It wasn't bad. It was just a lil-"

"Of course it wasn't bad," she remarked. "I choreographed and wrote that song myself. Who said it was bad? I'll freaking have them murdered. I just can't believe I lost to a group called Three Masturbating Monkeys!"

A librarian shushed the woman before me as her shrill voice rose. Although her pride was wrecked, she exuded a bit of confidence I found myself admiring.

"You could always try again with a different routine," I suggested.

"There is no 'again', Jackie. That was my second shot and it got blown," she griped. I couldn't imagine embarrassing myself on national television not just once, but twice.

"I'll never amount to anything. Man, I need a drink," she claimed then her eyes darted my way. "We should hang out and get a few drink tonight. You know, get to know each other more."

"I gotta work. Sorry," I told her. "And I don't drink, honestly."

"Oh.." her face fell and I was, again, reminded of her performance. She ran a manicured hand over her face.

"Actually," I spoke up, letting out a wince as I spoke. "Maybe this weekend we can go out for lunch?"

"I'll buy," she volunteered, face now glowing. She scribbled a few digits onto a piece of paper and handed it over.

"Shoot me a text or a call when you can make time, okay? Outside of school and Frankie, I'm usually down for whatever whenever," she giddily explained. I nodded and folded the number before folding it into my pocket. I had done my good deed for the day. It felt like one, anyway. It was the third time I had managed to bump into Tracey after our initial encounter. The third time was a charm.

I turned my back to her smile and continued to check out my books. Her scholar or stripper comment was starting to dig into my side. We could be both. I could be both. I would and I would show her.

"This could be good for you, Jackie," I mumbled to myself. "Some fresh air, some fresh faces."

"That'll be two-hundred ten dollars, fifty-five cents."

"Excuse me?" I tried the desk clerk who had just rung up my books. I knew learning would be expensive, but c'mon, they were just books! When she didn't repeat herself, I withdrew my wallet and swiped my debit card will a roll of my eyes.

"That's per semester, so make sure if you're enrolled for more than one, you come back here and re-instate your purchase at the starting period so you won't be fined. You can also do so online or on the phone," she handed over a bright green pamphlet.

"Yeah. Thanks," I said softly. She tore off my receipt and tucked the paper in between the pages of the book then slid them in my direction. I pressed the stack to my chest and left the building. With two days until the weekend, I had to mentally prepare myself for what I assumed would be an annoyingly stimulating conversation with Tracey over, what, burgers and fries? Or was she one of those pouty chicks who only ate gluten-free meals? I scoffed and tossed my books into the passenger seat. Yet another reason why I enjoyed solitude. At least then I only had to deal with me and only me.

Work was slow that night, as expected. The wee hours of a smoggy Thursday morning was still the middle of the week to most, but that didn't stop me from trying my hardest to earn every penny I could. I wasn't broke, but I wasn't well off. The textbooks had taken a decent sized chunk out of my account and nowadays, I felt like I shouldn't have to live like I once had; paycheck to paycheck while scrounging up change for a meal. I still had this month's rent to pay.

"Hey gorgeous."

I tore my eyes away from Chastity's stage routine and met Michael's gaze. A grin crept over my face.

"Hello handsome," I purred. "How're you today?"

"Are we really playing this game, or do you want me to get straight to the punch?" he responded. He flashed two green twenties and a smirk.

"I told you yesterday that I'd be back," he taunted.

"That you did," I airily stated. I began to saunter through the club, the all-black ensemble I was donning tonight making me feel sly and sultry in the humid, mostly velvet room.

"But how rude would it be for me to neglect all these other customers for you?" I teased. With the final word, I placed a hand on my hip and arched my back. A man in a chair turned my way and slipped a bill under my silk garter. I sent him a smile, running the back of my hand over his cheek. Michael seemed to impatiently fume. It was sort of cute.

"I'm paying you," he bragged as though he were the wealthiest, most important man in the room. I took several steps, closing the distance between us. I was so close I could smell the hint of whiskey on his breath. My eyes bore into his, but his were on my mouth. The purple and indigo strobelights danced and bounced off of us and I could just barely make out the sight of his jaw muscle clenching and un-clenching. Without another word, I swiped the forty dollars from his grip and started for the lounge. He didn't need directions this time, wasting no time following along and quickly taking a seat in one of the plush black chairs.

I unclasped the diamond studded, black bralette crisscrossing my chest and wasting no time straddling him at the hips. I had been secretly longing to feel his touch again. "West End Girls" was playing and I was just about to get going when his warm hands grabbed my hips.

"Come on, Jacquelyn. Don't tease daddy like this," he complained in a throaty voice. I don't know if I was more surprised at hearing such a desperate tone of voice, hearing my first name at a time like this, or the fact that he had really just referred to himself as "daddy".

"It's Cinnamon," I corrected, gripping his wrist so he would loosen his grip. My body dipped and swayed above him. I couldn't tell how much he'd had to drink, but the man before me was way more relaxed than he had been the last time I gave him a dance. I was feeding off of his vibes, my eyes closed as I moved. His hands aimlessly wandered all over my torso before slipping between my thighs. Goosebumps dotted my flesh.

"You want it just as bad as I do," he murmured.

"You sure?" I tried and he laughed before burying his face into my neck. The stubble of his beard scratched at my skin as his tongue and teeth licked and nipped at my throat. I drew in a deep breath, struggling to hold myself together. I pulled back and ran my teeth along his heavy jawline. One of his hands slipped around my lower back and I had to physically stopped myself from gyrating the both of us through the chair's cushion.

"See? What'd I tell you? I'll make it worth your while," he suggested.

"I'm not a prostitute. Quit talkin' to me like that," I snapped, a hint of frustration on my tongue.

"Then forget about the money for a minute," he explained, pulling back so I could see his face clearly. I did as I was told and forced the thought of textbooks and rent and car notes and menial financial woes from my head. All that was left was the unbearable throbbing between my legs and the imprint of his half-hardened dick against the back of my left thigh. I cast my dark eyes downward. There were beads of sweat on his forehead and a rim of dampness around the collar of his dress shirts. My eyes darted down to his mouth where one side of his thin lips were pulled up into a know-it-all smirk as if he already knew my answer. He leaned forward just enough for the hot air of his mouth to tickle at my exposed nipple. If I backed away now, I'd be as frustrated as a rooster without a rising sun.

"We'll go, on one condition," I finally let out. The look of elation in his bright eyes was almost beautiful.

"You've been drinkin', so I'm drivin'. There's a gray Cavalcade parked under the overpass. Meet me there."

"Right about now, you could ask me to burn this place down and I'd do it for ya," he cheered as I climbed out of his lap and started for the door. I ignored the sloppy remark, shaking my head with a laugh as I hurried for the dressing room. I had just stepped into my jeans and was zipping my jacket up over my bra when Sapphire pushed through the door. I froze.

"No fucking way!" she jeered. "Where're you going? What's wrong? Are you hurt again?"

"For fuck's sake, no. I..." I sighed and fought against the crimson pooling in my cheeks. "I have a customer who wants to take me home."

"No way!" she gasped. "I thought you would never..."

Before she could say anything, I hurried back through the club and right outside. As instructed, Michael was leaning against the passenger door of my SUV. In a matter of seconds, we were on the road headed north. My heart thudded heavily in my chest as I parked outside my apartment complex. A cool breeze sent needles pricking at the sweat collecting around my neck. Michael's dress shoes made a neat noise against the pavement as I lead the way up the walkway to my front door. Suddenly, I couldn't remember if I had left my place in decent condition or if I could've possibly been overdue for a wax treatment. I shook my head. I was taking a man home from the strip club. He wouldn't care if my bed wasn't made or if my sweet mound had a bit of stubble to match his face.

"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" I shot over my shoulder as I unlocked the door to my home.

"Long as it doesn't gt in the way, we are A-okay," Michael growled in my ear. He pressed himself against me just as the door swung open. I could feel his imprint again, harder this time, as he placed both hands on my hips and coaxed the both of us inside. He spun me around and pressed his lips against mine. My body responded before I could even think, my arms wrapping around his shoulders and my breasts pushing up against his chest until it was almost uncomfortable. One of his hands came down hard on my backside and I yelped.

"You been a bad girl?" he queried.

"You're gonna have to pay extra for that," I taunted.

"Shut up," he laughed before kissing me again. I pressed hard against his frame, craving more of this new, heated contact. He kicked off his shoes and yanked at his tie. I dropped my jacket on a stool, stepped out of my shoes, and began tugging at articles of clothing as we bumped and shuffled back toward the bedroom of my dim apartment. I swung open the bedroom door and MoJo scurried past with a hiss.

With more skin exposed, I felt hungrier than ever. I slipped out of the bralette, leaving on just its matching black panties, and Michael shoved me back against the mattress. I shuffled backward until I was at the head of my bed. He toyed with the button of his slacks as he wobbled toward me on his knees. I rolled onto my stomach, arching my back to make sure he got a clear view of my backside.

"You really are fucking gorgeous," he breathed. He was just starting to pull his white tank top over his head when his phone rang in his pocket. He snatched out the device.

"Not now," he groaned loudly, tossing it over his shoulder.

"You wanna get that?" I panted, breaking away as he leaned in for another kiss.

"It's not important. It'll stop in a minute," he insisted. The heat between my legs begged to believe the man before me. I rolled onto my back and kissed him deeply as he steadied his frame above mine. I suckled his bottom lip into my mouth and he groaned again. One of his hands tickled at the waistband of my damp panties. My hips arched toward his. I hadn't let myself get carried away like this for months. The promiscuity of the idea alone made my heart pitter patter. And this one? So handsome and persistent...and grabby. I unzipped his trousers myself, only to sigh when his phone began ringing again.

"No," he complained as I wriggled away. He clambered for the phone.

"What, Trevor?" he greeted. I groaned myself and collapsed against the mattress. Out of all people...

"No, I'm busy," he said after a moment. " I haven't been to the club tonight, so there's no way I'd know where Jacquelyn is. Have you tried calling her? Oh, you did. Her phone's off?"

I clapped a hand over my face. My phone bill, yet another menial financial task. I sat up and pulled my bralette back over my shoulders.

"I'm a busy man, T. I gotta go," he hurried and hung up the phone before returning back to me. "Where ya going?"

"I gotta go back to the club. I forgot about my phone bill. There's a few things I forgot I hafta get straight and I gotta make sure I got the money," I sighed, scooting to the edge of the bed. He moved with me. His thick hands massaged circles into my shoulders.

"Don't worry about it. I've got it, really. We're already here. Daddy's got you covered," he cooed, kissing my shoulder. I paused in getting dressed, weighing my options. His hand was on my waist and his lips were on my neck again. His right hand slipped between my thighs, prying them apart and pulling the fabric of my underwear to the side. One of his meaty fingers slipped into my wet slit before a second one joined. I hissed and my hand snapped to his wrist, guiding him someplace deeper. He kissed the side of my face and cupped one of my breasts in his other hand. I whimpered as the fire that his ringing phone had extinguished began flickering again.

"Come here," he grunted, pulling me closer against him. I was putty in his arms, leaning against him wit my back to his chest as I watched his fingers plunge in and out of my sopping entrance. His left hand reached around and I could make out the glint of his wedding band against the dim moonlight peeking through the blinds. I closed my eyes to the sight, moaning louder as he toyed with my swollen clit. I bit my lip, fidgeting against him as my hot insides twitched and itched against his probing. He caught a bit of my flesh between his teeth and I wanted to warn him about leaving marks, but the pulsating orgasm that started somewhere deep inside my core took over. My mouth hung open and I trembled against him, a hoarse whine spilling from my damp lips until his mouth closed over mine in a ravenous kiss.

His phone started ringing again, but he didn't pull away from me to answer. I felt him crane his neck to see the screen. It took a few seconds for the shock of the orgasmic waves crashing into me to falter, but when they did, I took his hand in mine and slipped his sticky fingers into my mouth. His head snapped down to look at me and he watched in awe, his own jar unhinged.

"Fucking-A," he murmured before I shoved him down against the mattress. He was throbbing in my hands when I fished his member out of his boxers and I knew it wouldn't take much to finish him off. I just had to make sure it was enough for me to get my much-neglected fill. And enough to pay for my phone and all the other bullshit that was fighting to fill my head again.

He fished his wallet out of his pocket and withdrew a condom. I flashed a small smile, impressed with his wit. I managed to yank his pants down to his ankles before he kicked them off to the floor and pulled me into his lap. He gripped the sides of my face and kissed me as I came down on top of him slowly.

"Jacquelyn," he groaned. "Fuck."

"Call me Jackie," I breathed before pushing him flat on the mattress and winding my hips in a slow circle. His phone was ringing again. I tossed back the covers, which sent the device flying across the room. With that, Michael grabbed my hips and pummeled into me a couple more times before his head pressed back against the pillow and he grit his teeth.

"If that damned thing didn't stop ringing, I don't think we would've made it. I didn't think I had it in me," he said, sounding winded. I chuckled.

"Looks to me like you pulled it off," I leaned over and kissed him once before climbing off and lying flat on my back against the mattress. The satisfied sleep of a job well done was already tugging at my eyelids and my heavy limbs. Michael rolled over and tickled my left hip with his fingertips.

"Come on. What d'ya say we take a shower and get ready for round two?"

My eyebrows shot up and he ran a hand over his face. I propped myself up on my elbows and cast my eyes down at him.

"You couldn't handle round two," I played.

"I'm a fucking all-star, baby," he claimed. He rolled out of the bed to collect his phone across the room. I took in the view, drinking in the muscles of his back and shoulders and the faint red scratches I had left on his forearms.

"Figures," he scoffed, tossing the phone back down onto our piles of clothes.

"What?"

"Trevor, again. Come on," his hand came down on my bare ass hard and I squealed. "Time to hit the showers."


	6. Chapter 6

I sauntered off the stage after my last dance for the night and let out a deep yawn. It was high time to go home. Even after four in the morning, the club was alive and bustling. I took a seat on one of the stools at the cluttered counter and began to sort out the night's earnings. The seat squeaked as I bopped to the beat of the muffled music. This place was never quiet. The door opened and Cheetah stepped up to the counter.  
"Hey," I greeted first and she sent a queer look in my direction.  
"You're a lot happier than usual," she claimed. I laughed once and nodded, returning to my money. I couldn't blame her for the stand-offish remark, but I was feeling generous. Last night turned into a hot mess of sweaty limbs and breathless curse words. I didn't even know it was what I needed until it was devouring me. On top of that, Michael spotted a few decent bills my way for it. He even slipped an extra one-hundred into the mix to make up for the mess he made after hoisting me onto the kitchen counter and breaking my toaster during a quickie on his way out in the morning. I hadn't given my number to the married man when he'd asked, but he wrote his own down then left it on my dresser and made me promise to call when I "wanted a good time". The whole thing gave off the impression that he did this a lot and suddenly, it made me numb to the wrong I had been suckered in to. If I wasn't the only one, I wasn't the problem. Besides, I had done worse.  
"Hell-ooo beautiful one and beautiful two."  
In an instant, Cheetah was on her feet and pressing her lips to Mr. T's cheek as he loped into the dressing room. The metal hangers on the clothes rank clinked together as he leaned against it. My coworker finished with her makeup and sauntered into the club, leaving us alone. I quickly finished counting his cut for the night. He watched with a silence that made me uneasy. I slipped the last dollar bill in place, handed the stack over to my boss, and kissed his cheek as he had asked all the girls to do when greeting him. I expected him to turn away with the dough and leave, but instead he stood fast and fanned through the money with a dirty thumb. I kept my eyes trained on his tattooed hands in the mirror as I took down my hair and wiped off the night's facade of makeup.  
"I was watchin' you dance earlier. Y'know, for inspections and shit," he finally spoke up.  
"Oh yeah? How'd I do?"  
"Fuckin' perfect, all of you. I just couldn't help but notice this one thing about yer arm. You do this li'l shimmy when you're climbin' up the pole."  
"Yeah," I grimaced. "I had an accident when I was a kid."  
"What kind of accident?"  
"Bit by a farm hound," I stated. I pulled down my left bra strap so he could get a good look at the shiny scar just under my collar bone. Three barely noticeable, star-shaped notches in my skin stood out against the white light of the bare bulbs.  
"You lived on a farm?" he pressed on. He crossed the small space between us and leaned against the counter.  
"No. My neighbors were farmers."  
"Great. That's great. Where'd you say you were from again?"  
I slightly frowned at the question. I had yet to ever tell him. His dirty fingernails drummed against his forearm after he crossed both arms over his chest.  
"You read my file. Y'know, Grapeseed," I solemnly replied. He let out a sort of rumble which chilled me to the bone.  
"And you left that beautiful place to work in this shitty city when there's plenty work out there?" he questioned. I shifted in the seat before standing to gather my things and busy my trembling hands.  
"I left for the opportunities. School, for one. You and me... We both know betterin' yourself up there is a lot harder to do than down here. I got a good job and I'm startin' school next week, somethin' I knew I can't do out there," I bravely claimed. He cracked a grin, those wild eyes boring into me like he knew all of my secrets. It was in those forever menacing amber eyes did I get a glimpse at the prying curiosity that was driving his unwarranted approach.  
"You own a business. I mean, ain't that why you came to Los Santos too? To get better?" I quickly fired back, hoping to deter whatever information he was trying to gather. His head shook back and forth quickly.  
"Fuck no. I hate it here. I came here lookin' for a ghost and I found him. People like you and me only come to cities like this when we're searchin'...or we're hidin'. It's easy to hide here from whatever's lookin' for you, what with the buildings that loom and dark alleys," he explained with a hum before falling quiet. My heart sunk to the floor and I almost literally felt the color drain from my face.  
"Anyway!" he piped up and I slightly jumped at his change in tone. "What's this I hear 'round here about you takin' someone home last night?"  
"Is it a crime?" I asked, smug. His eyes scanned me head to toe before he answered.  
"Nah. Your statement in your file says you're against it."  
"A girl can change."  
"Is that so?"  
"Of course," I concluded and I knew we weren't talking about just work anymore. He knew where I was from. It would only be a matter of time before he knew what I used to do. I opened my mouth to explain, but he interrupted.  
"Who is Samuel?"  
The name made me sick to my stomach every time I heard it. Mr. T's eyes were on the small, cursive tattoo running just across the top of my left shoulder in black ink.  
"My brother," I curtly replied.  
"What happened to him?"  
I cut my eyes his way and he rolled his own in response.  
"If it ain't a lover, it's always a lost loved one people mark on their skin," he claimed. He tugged at the sleeve of his wrinkled polo to reveal a heavily detailed cross tattooed on his own arm.  
"Michael," I read aloud. "Michael? Wait-"  
"Don't even bother," he remarked. "Answer the question."  
"He was killed by some bikers-"  
"The Lost?" he quickly interjected, eyes wide. I nodded. The mood in the room tilted.  
"Well shit," he exclaimed with a little laugh. "He musta did something to really piss 'em off, am I right?"  
"Maybe. I never stuck around to get the entire story and of course, I can't get his half," I quickly let out before finally gathering the nerve to start for the door. I felt like I was choking on the dry air of a sandstorm. He caught me by the elbow just outside the door and stopped me in my tracks.  
"I don't have your entire story either, so why don't you just stick around and have a beer and tell it?" he grumbled into my ear.  
"I don't drink. I'm just a county chick tryna make somethin' outta herself, Mr. T. You know how it is," I pitched in a shaky voice. His lips curled up into a wicked grin, then he placed a hand on the shoulder of my jacket and gave it a small squeeze.   
"Okay," he quietly let out. His eyes bore into mine as he released me from his grip and pulled the door open. I hurried past and wove my way through the muggy club. I could practically feel those eyes on me up until I rounded the corner and pushed my way outside. It was humid and drizzling. I stopped beneath the burgundy awning, dropped my duffel and hunched over, hands on my knees as I sucked in the fresh air. It would all be out eventually. I hated the past. I hated The Lost. I hated Johnny K. I hated the desert. I hated reputations.  
"You okay, miss?" a man's voice asked and a hand came down on my shoulder. I shimmied out of the grasp and stood upright.  
"I'm fine. I'm..."  
The rent-a-cop from school who had wrote my citations stood a few inches away, a man on his left who definitely looked about drunk already. The rent-a-cop's eyes narrowed and his mouth opened to speak, but I was already in motion. My left foot came up fast between his legs and he fell to his knees with a yelp. I reared back my right fist before striking him square in the nose. As he toppled over, his friend stepped up and caught me across the face with an open palm. Before I could start in on him, the guard at the door lashed out, grabbing me about the waist and gathering me under his arm as he radioed for help.  
"I said I'd get you back!" I jeered, heart and adrenaline pounding in my ears. The rent-a-cop was hoisted to his feet by his friend. Blood dripped from one of his nostrils. His nose looked broken and other than the time I'd done the same thing to an unruly Yellow Jack Inn customer, I had never felt so satisfied with myself.  
"You'll get yours, bitch," he spat.  
"Whoa, whoa. There ain't no need for such language. You kiss yer mother with that mouth?" Mr. T exclaimed as he marched out of the club himself, not another guard in tow.  
"What's the problem, slick?"  
I looked up and noticed he was talking to me. The guard who had held me back put me down and I stood upright, brushing a bit of my hair behind my ear.  
"He called me a whore. He said all the girls were whores," I explained. The word made myself teeth and my chest hurt. Mr. T stared blankly at me before pivoting in the rent-a-cop's direction.  
"That right?" he calmly questioned. The city responded with it's light rain pitter-pattering against the building's metal roof and faint horns with accompanied music.   
"Answer the fucking question!" Mr. T barked and I swear, all four of us jumped.  
"Yeah, but...but that was days ago," the rent-a-cop claimed. Mr. T took several steps his way, closing the gap between them until they were nearly nose to nose. The guard beside me tensed.  
"What's your name?" Mr. T asked in a quieter tone. Rent-A-Cop swallowed, eyes wide. By now, I was sure he was feeling all of what the infamous Trevor Philips always wanted his victims to feel before he took his strike. I almost felt bad for him.  
"Henry," he finally answered.  
"Last name?" Mr. T requested.  
"H-Henderson."  
"Henry Henderson," he repeated back to the bleeding man in front of him. "Mr. Henderson... The next time you insult my business, which you so willingly help fund, my employees, or any woman for that matter... I will find you and I will cut your dick off with a rusted knife then shove it so far down your throat, you'll need a colonoscopy to find it. Do I make myself clear?"  
He quickly nodded.  
"Apologize to my employee," he added, eyes still on the man.  
"S-Sorry, ma'am."  
"Now get outta here. Fix your fuckin' face," he ordered. His friend tugged at his sleeve and the two hurried for the oldsmobile across the lot. After they drove away, Mr. T turned to us with a smile on his face as though nothing had happened. I could still hear his threat bouncing around my head and it wasn't even meant for me.  
"You hit him?" he asked the guard.  
"No, sir."  
His eyes lingered on me and his eyebrows rose.  
"Full of surprises, ain't ya?" he harrumphed then marched back into the club. I swiped up my bag and lit a cigarette for my nerves on my way to my vehicle. Part of me wanted to go ahead and tell him about my previous ties with The Lost and get it out of the way. A lot of them were dead from the explosion and it wasn't like I was still working for them. I was his now. Another part of me hoped he'd get so drugged up that he'd just forget it. There was nowhere for me to run or work. School started in two days. If I could make it last a little longer like this, it would blow over. It had to.   
\---------------------------------------------------  
A few hours later, my alarm clock went off just before noon. I rolled over in the bed and plucked away at my phone screen. It seemed the entire west coast was posting pictures all over LifeInvader and Bleeter of their lunches. My stomach growled. The sun outside was ferociously beating against my blinds. The rain from last night and this sun would make for a humid day. It was the one way this city and Blaine County were similar. I shook my head. I had to stop thinking about it. I needed a distraction.  
My thumb hovered over Tracey's digital contact for the longest before I pressed CALL.  
"Hullo?"  
"Hope I didn't wake you up. It's Jackie," I announced.  
"Jackie? No, it's totally cool. I need to get up anyway," she said with a yawn. "What's up?"  
"Err, lunch. I thought maybe we could go somewhere," I suggested, almost regretting how pitiful I sounded. This felt so off. What if I bumped into one of the girls while I was out? Would they think I'd rather hang out with her than them? Would they tell the others? What if someone recognizes me from the club? What if-  
"Frankie can drop me off at Beachwalk Bistro in an hour. Does that work?"  
"Sure does," I replied, holding the phone away from my ear to use the GPS feature. It wasn't too far. The beach and the boardwalk would make for a good distraction if we were met with any stiff silence.  
It didn't take an hour for me to shower, slip into shorts, a basic white tee, and my sandals then make it to the restaurant. Seagulls and pedestrians meandered along the boardwalk. I cupped a hand over my brow and squinted out across the beach. The wake crashed against the shore with a lulling sound. A few surfers seemed to disappear under the horizon with this brightly colored boards. People were playing with their pets and volleyballs. It was the one peaceful place where I could never seem to take myself. It almost seemed too good to be true.  
"Jackie, hey!"  
My head snapped toward the greeting and I found Tracey seated at a round table outside of the restaurant. I pulled out the wooden chair across from her and took a seat.  
"Nice weather, huh?" I tried, already beginning to feel the workings of sweat between my shoulder blades.  
"I'll say. Hope you don't mind I already ordered. I'm starving and my dad's on my way with my wallet. I forgot it at home. Hopefully he actually shows up," she claimed. A waitress clad in all white came stalking around the side of the building with a tray in hand. She sat a leafy salad and a cup of water in front of Tracey then turned to me with a menu. I cracked it open and beamed.  
"BLT and steak fries on the side. Coke, please."  
"Wow," Tracey scoffed once the waitress made off with my order. "I wish I could eat like that and look like you."  
"You look mighty fine to me and I'm sure your boyfriend feels the same. Saturday's just my cheat day," I quickly informed her.  
"You're kidding. Look at your arms. You're almost built like my mom, but like before she had my blob of a brother. Tell me your secret," she egged. Well me and your mom share a common physically demanding occupation, I thought to myself.  
"I go to the gym a lot," I answered. "Keeps me calm and burns calories."  
"Oh my gosh. We should go together some time," she suggested before shoveling leafy green into her mouth.   
"You have a brother?" I asked in an effort to change the subject.  
"Yeah. Jimmy. Total douche-lord. You know, when I first introduced Frankie to my family as my boyfriend, he thought it would be cool to call him, y'know, the N-word?" she revealed. I cringed. This family made me feel a little better about myself.  
The waitress returned and slid my food across the table on square, back plates.  
"Thanks," I quietly said before picking up the sandwich and taking a bite. Two women in spandex jogged by, engaged in deep conversation. A boy cruised past on a skateboard before wiping out in the sand.  
"So what brought you to Los Santos?" she asked a couple minutes later.  
"Work and school."  
"What do you do?" she pried, head cocked to the side.   
"Me?" I choked on a fry then sipped my soda. Her bright eyes squared in on something behind me as I pulled myself together.  
"There he is. He actually brought it!" she cheered and I grew relieved as she stood and started away.  
"Thanks daddy!" I heard her squeal.  
"No problem. It's about time you asked your old man for something instead of your boyfriend. Who's your friend?" a deep voice responded to her. I popped another fry into my mouth.  
"Not now, pop."  
"I mean, I'm already down here, Trace. I can take the wallet back."  
"Don't be a jerk!" she whined. There was a shuffle of feet and Tracey rounded the table then plopped down in her seat.  
"Jackie, this is my dad. Dad, this is Jackie," she groveled as her arms snapped to cross over powder blue her blouse. I shifted my hips in the chair to smile at the man only for my face to fall. I choked on another fry, my hands flying to my chest. I could feel Michael's eyes on me as I composed myself once more.  
"You okay?" he asked, his hand coming down hard on my back a few times in an attempt to help.  
"Keep your hands to yourself," Tracey warned. I put up a hand as I coughed then cleared my throat.  
"It's fine. I'm fine," I finally managed to let out. I sat up and met Michael's gaze. There was a smirk on his face. There was a knot in my stomach. He extended a hand in my direction and coolly recited,  
"Mr. De Santa."  
"Jackie," I lilted, returning a firm grip. Feeling his warm hand sent goosebumps shooting up my spine. Oh, the things he could do with his hands. And his mouth-  
"Don't you have more people to kill and money to spend?" Tracey interjected. I realized we were still shaking hands and I wrenched my appendage free of his.  
"Not today, sweetheart," he answered.  
"People to kill?" I echoed, an eyebrow shooting skyward. He gave his cuff links a tug and laughed.  
"She's just being funny, weren't you, Trace?"  
I looked her way to find her fuming, nostrils flaring and cheeks pink. Her chest rose and fell with deep, almost strained breath. The song she had performed on Fame Or Shame still rang in my ears. It was about this man, the man whose face I had made my seat not even forty-eight hours ago. I felt myself blushing and diverted my eyes to my half-empty plate.   
"My classes start Monday, Tracey. We can get lunch a few times a week then," I told her in an attempt to get her going again.  
"That's great," she replied and I could feel the emptiness in her voice.  
"Is that where you two met? School?" Michael inquired. His shoes squeaked as he rocked back and forth on the soles and fished his hands into his pockets.  
"Thanks for droppin' off her wallet, Mr. De Santa. We can take it from here," I spewed. I couldn't take Tracey's silence anymore. I could nearly feel the extra heat radiating off of her. That, and her "joke" about his killing of more people wasn't sitting well with me. The fact he and Trevor were friends didn't help.  
He laughed once, sending me a cool smile before loping away. Once he was out of earshot, Tracey deflated.  
"You might've been the first woman to not fall prey and swoon," she sighed.  
"What d'you mean?"  
"This happens every time," she declared, elbows on the table and face in her hands. "He tries to hit on everything with a pulse and nice legs. Yeah, mom isn't the most perfect woman, but come on."  
I nervously laughed.  
"He doesn't look THAT good."  
"He'd probably end up getting you killed. He's into some terrible shit," she remarked. I cocked my head to the side, prompting her to continue and take control of the atmosphere.  
"He and my Uncle Trevor... Ugh. It's just terrible," she shuddered. I clapped a hand to my forehead. She knew Trevor too.   
"One time, my dad and Frankie had to save my brother from these guys who wanted to steal daddy's yacht," she started up.  
"Yacht?" I repeated and she was off babbling again, but I wasn't listening. No wonder he so willingly handed over money. And the house I had seen when I dropped her off for the first time? I scratched my sweaty scalp.   
"Can I ask you something without, like, offending you?" she spoke up. I shook my head clear and gave her my attention.  
"Are you a lesbian? It's cool if you are. I know quite a few-"  
"No," I slowly answered. "I ain't."  
"So then you're bi?"  
"...sure. What gave you that idea?"  
"Oh. Well, Frankie said he bumped into you at that club, the Vanilla Donkey-"  
"Unicorn," I corrected. It was reflex action. I bit my tongue.  
"Wait," I frantically waved a hand. "You're okay with your boyfriend going to a strip club? To see other women?"  
"Yeah. I mean..." one of her shoulders inched upward and I waited for the bomb to follow. "I've always been curious myself, but none of my girl friends would dare go to a place like that and I can't go alone. I feel like if I go with Frankie, that'll make it weird... I dunno. Maybe you and I will add that to our list of things to do together."  
I took a big gulp of my soda, finishing it off. Go to lunch with Tracey. It'll be fun. You need this. I looked to the ocean and rolled my eyes. All of this was the last thing I needed. I worked for her uncle, who would probably kill me one day, slept with her womanizing dad, and both of them worked with her boyfriend doing God knows what. If keeping a low profile in Los Santos was my intention, I was botching the hell out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone hate me for this yet? Just wondering.


	7. Chapter 7

"You shoulda told me Tracey was your daughter," I muttered over the unlit cigarette between my lips.

"You should've mentioned the two of you were friends. She doesn't have many of those," Michael remarked, leaning over the mattress and igniting the end of my cigarette with a silver lighter. I sucked in several puffs before handing it over to him and pulling the sheets up to my chin.

"Oh yeah? She probably can't keep any 'cause you come scarin' 'em off. Would me mentionin' our friendship have even stopped you?" I questioned, turning my dark eyes his way. He was seated on the edge of my bed, tugging on the off-white chinos I had wrestled him out of earlier.

"Doubt it," he finally answered with a light laugh.

"You're the stuff of nightmares," I remarked with a shake of my head.

"Hey. You picked up the phone and called me," he reasoned in an accusatory tone.

"You coulda said no," I huffed, forcing myself out of bed and loping over to the closet.

"Where's the fun in that?" he exhaled and snubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray on my dresser. "What do you have planned for the day?"

"Orientation at ULSA, then lunch with Tracey. Work after that. You gon' be there to pester me?" I asked as I tucked my camisole into my jeans and pulled a 'VNWD BLVD' polo over my head.

"Probably not, but you can keep a seat warm for me if you want," he joked. I rolled my eyes with a small smile.

"I've gotta see a man about breaking a real big piggy bank," he claimed.

"Mm. I'll pretend I ain't hear that."

"Should I repeat it then?" he tried, turning to me with a smirk on his face as he fidgeted with the collar of his Hawaiian shirt. "Anyway, you gonna call me when you get off or do I have to call you now that I've got your number?"

"We'll see," I answered. "You sure you wanna waltz around with a stripper's contact info? I would surely hate to be confronted by the Misses."

"You wouldn't be the first," he claimed and I cut my eyes at him. "You let me worry about Mandy, okay? She's too busy playing her own games."

"Two wrongs ain't ever gon' make a right," I declared.

"But it does make for a good time. Hey, you should stop at the store while you're out and pick up a few drinks for next time."

"No can do. I don't drink."

"Bullshit!" he exclaimed as he followed me out of my bedroom and toward the front door.

"Scout's honor. Hate the stuff, all of it," I continued to explain. MoJo hopped out of the cardboard box our new toaster had come in and paced between my legs as I poured his food into his bowl..

"Why?" he asked once we were outside.

"Why what?" I asked.

"Why don't you drink? You work at a club. You live in Los Santos and you don't drink?" he curiously pried.

"I worked a bar in the county for years. Enough time there is enough to make even the most haggard man quit," I explained. He popped open the door of his car with a sigh.

"Except your boss. He's on a completely different level. Oh well. I'm sure there are other ways you can have fun..."

"Uh huh. Tons. I'll phone up one of the girls and we can give ya a private show or have some fun of our own."

His light eyes bucked right out of his skull and I shook my head.

"You're an animal. I would never."

"Don't toy with me like that, Jackie. You're full of shit," he cursed, despite there being a wide smile on his face.

"Right back at ya, Mr. De Santa," I shot back before he claimed his driver's seat and reversed out of the small lot. I watched until he disappeared around the corner. As I turned around to climb into my SUV, I bumped into Dr. Mayor.

"Good mornin'," I greeted.

"Morning," my landlord pivoted on his feet in a way that blocked the door and I knew we were due for a confrontation.

"Yeah?" I huffed, immediately growing exasperated.

"Is he, eh... Was that one of your friends?"

"Yeah."

"Have you ever read over the housing rules for overnight guests not on your lease?" he urged. Did I read over the rules- Of fuckin' course I read over the rules. All the tenants did. It's not like anyone paid it any common courtesy in the end. The others were just better at getting their guest out, unseen and unheard.

"I have. You want a thirty-dollar deposit for every night someone stays over, but," I raised a finger and sent him a wry smile. "He ain't stay the night."

"Jacquelyn, he just left. Just now. I saw him," the landlord insisted.

"He was here for three hours, tops. You know I work nights. I called him after I got home," I explained. The squat, muscular man before me pushed his square-rimmed glasses back up the bridge of his nose before dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a napkin and saying,

"I've got my eyes on you, Ms. Townsend."

I waited until he too disappeared around the corner before I revoked my smile and climbed into the truck.

There wasn't a lot of traffic on the roads to be a sunny Monday morning, but the school grounds were buzzing with life. I coasted down the narrow street where cars were parked on both sides of the road. A group of guys tossing a frisbee back and forth were taking turns tackling each other. The security guard by the name of Henry Henderson was exchanging words with a feller on a skateboard. The bridge of the guard's nose was bandaged over and there were dark red circles at the inner corners of his eye sockets. I still had enough fight in me.

I pulled into one of the last empty spaces in the student lot and tucked the fluorescent yellow parking pass onto my rearview mirror before departing from the SUV.

"Nice wheels," a guy said and the chick by his side giggled.

"Uh huh," I let out, taking note of the tiny, red smart car the duo leaned against. Now those were screaming metal death traps. A small tap from my bumper would send them hurdling into the LS River a crumpled heap. I cleared my head of the hateful thoughts and hurried across the street. As usual, the air conditioning inside of the main building sent goosebumps rippling from head to toe. I tugged at my sleeves as I snaked through other students. Most of them, fresh out of some cramped high school, looked terrified. I was anxious myself, but I had enough life experience to know this wasn't a new world.

I broke free from the crowd in the main hall and joined a sparse parade of stragglers marching down a corridor. Glancing down at the schedule in my hands, I made sure to stop at the right class. At the front of the small classroom sat a tired looking woman with dark caterpillars for eyebrows. The wheels of her chair squeaked as she slid across the room to her desk.

"Last name?" she requested.

"Townsend."

I watched her scribble something beside my name on the roster, then she handed over a thin packet.

"First day is Wednesday. Have this completed and ready for discussion before the first lesson. Don't be late. Here," she thrust a calculator my way. "Everyone is accountable for their own. You lose it, you owe me an apology and money to the school. Got it?"

"Oh. Y-Yeah," I stammered as I situated the new belongings. I had almost forgotten about the no-nonsense, stick-straight people still buried in this mess of a place.

"I'm Mrs. King. I'll be seeing ya," she remarked before turning her back to me and rolling away. I waited until I was in the hallway to collect my flustered nerves. I had been out of school a couple years shy of a decade. I couldn't be that rusty already. And homework? Fuck. I looked to the papers Mrs. King had forked over. A budget spreadsheet. Fuckin' hell. My numbers varied so often, I was sure to raise a few eyebrows.

The rest of orientation dragged on the same. I underestimated the homework load, especially after my Literature professor tossed in a two chapter reading with a small essay due Thursday. As I shuffled through a pair of double doors leading outside, I caught Tracey in my sights sauntering up the sidewalk.

"Tracey!"

She looked up from her phone and smiled before heading my way.

"I was just about to text you! Homework, much?"

"Yeah," I griped as we crossed the busy street for my car.

"You still good for lunch or you wanna get a start on that?" she plucked the paperback book I was holding.

"I got it," I reassured her. "I'll have time before work tomorrow."

"Hey, you never told me what you do."

"I didn't? Swear I did," I fudged, knowing goodness well the encounter with Mr. De Santa on the boardwalk had cut me short.

"Nah. I'd remember. Blonde doesn't always mean dumb," she said with a laugh of her own.

"I'm a waitress," I quickly lied. "What about you?"

"Are you kidding?" she exclaimed with a scoff. One of my eyebrows rose as we climbed into my vehicle.

"I haven't worked a day in my life. My dad and Frankie are putting me through school. I'm only going because my dad wants me to. I think I'd make a fine entertainer or housewife. My mom did both, so I don't see why I can't," she quickly explained.

"What about that song you sang on TV? Somethin' 'bout the fine line between becomin' a scholar or a stripper or a hoe?" I pressed.

"Between you and me and probably two dozen horny, anonymous men out there, I once ran a phone sex hotline. You may have heard of me, Tracey Suxxx?"

"Can't say I have," I quietly remarked, taking note.

"Anyway, that was just a song. I believe a woman can do whatever she wants. Hey, before we hit the city, can we swing by my place? I gotta pick up something," she requested.

"Another wallet?"

"Haha. You're a real riot," she let out in a sarcastic tone. "You remember where I live?"

"Can't forget if I tried."

"So now that we're girlfriends, what do you say we get mani-pedis one day?" she suggested and I wanted to decline right there.

"If our schedules allow for it, why not?"

I wanted to keep my ominous solitude, but there was another part of me growing to like the idea of being preoccupied and conversing with someone over something that wasn't work-related or prying questions about my old life. It filled the silence that my brother once filled himself.

"Pull up in front of the garage," she pointed to the burgundy metal door. Perched high on the hill, the house seemed even bigger now than when I first laid eyes on it. I may or may not have spent a few days slowly driving past the place to admire it after I learned of its existence.

"Well c'mon," she urged, slamming the door shut and starting for the pretty front stoop. I opened my mouth to decline, then decided to shuffle after her. I shot a few glances over my shoulder until she shouldered open one of the doors, letting us inside. Large, colorful paintings and a pale love seat lined the peach walls. I awkwardly eyed the odd, bronzed chandelier type thing suspended from the ceiling by the stairs. There was even a skylight. I had only seen those in movies.

"In here," she continued. I quit my gawking and followed her into an extremely modern kitchen.

"You can wait in here," Tracey reassured, fetching a pair of bottled waters out of the fridge and handing one over. "Be back in a sec."

I nodded and she disappeared from the room. My eyes wandered over the various wine bottles perched in racks in the corner. The small but spotless chandelier over my head gleamed against sun rays shining through the many windows. White china was neatly stacked in a cabinet. What looked like a patch of tiny grass in a tiny vase was growing in the windowsill. I unscrewed my water and took a sip before taking a seat on one of the stools at the island in the middle of the perfect kitchen.

I heard the front door open and soon, a dark haired woman walked into the room with a man at her heels. They both kicked off their sandals then halted once they saw me.

"Who're you?" the brunette asked, her face tight.

"I'm here with Tracey."

"Oh! You must be her friend, Jackie. It's nice to meet you! Thank you for helping my sweet girl out with her car trouble," she gushed. I politely nodded.

"Well I'm Mrs. De Santa, but I prefer Amanda," she revealed and I resisted the urge to show any emotion other than a shallow interest in the words coming out of her mouth. Out of all the people I could have went the rest of my life without meeting, she was at the top of the list. Right underneath Johnny Klebitz and above the man I had punched in the face the other night.

"This is my yoga instructor, Fabien," she gingerly touched the chest of the man behind her and one of my eyebrows twitched upward.

"Namaste," he spoke up with a small bow.

"If you need anything while you're waiting for Tracey, we're just through these glass doors," she seemed to squeak. Again, I nodded and soon I was reacquainted with the solitude of the wide kitchen.

Tracey said she wouldn't be long. I didn't want to rush her, but I had already finished my water and she wasn't back. I could swear I heard water running overhead somewhere... I pushed away from the island and approached the sink to refill the plastic bottle. Peeking out the window couldn't be avoided from my position and I wound up catching Mrs. De Santa lying flat on her back on the ground. Her yoga instructor was holding himself just above her and rocking his hips back and forth just inches away from her pelvis. She laughed and leaned up, kissing him right on the mouth. Suddenly, I understood what Tracey meant when she said her mom wasn't the most perfect woman. I wasn't any better than them. I decided that right then and there.

I turned away from the duo's heated exchange and let my eyes dance on the shimmering surface of a swimming pool. The bricked patio and it's matching furniture wasn't hard on the eyes either. The place as a whole wasn't. It was always the screwed up ones who had the nicest things and couldn't appreciate it. I couldn't scorn anyone for how I was feeling. I had went from sharing a trashy trailer with dope fiends to a pretty decent, one-bedroom studio apartment of my own.

"Ready to go?" came Tracey's voice behind me.

"Yeah," I answered, starting behind her for the door. Her hair was damp and I smelled powder. Had I really driven her home just so she could shower and make me sit in the kitchen the entire time?

Lunch turned out to not be a disaster. I talked her into eating something more than just a cold salad. Hell, I ate more than that when I was scraping for change in the desert. In exchange, I have to take her to the gym when I go. If I had free time to make it there. She spoke up her dad, applauding me for resisting his approach. If she knew the truth, she would have probably hated me. And if she ever did hate me, well it wouldn't exactly be a bad thing. I would just resort back to my lonesome. That wouldn't be a problem at all. No. A problem was the abundance of cars parked outside of the Vanilla Unicorn when I got there that night. Speaking from recent experiences, the night would either go extremely well or horrific.

I pushed through the front door and turned to the woman with the pixie cut seated behind the glass. She pushed the clipboard toward me to sign-in then slipped a shred of paper my way. I sent her a look, an eyebrow raised as I hastily swiped up the note. Her dark eyes fluttered away from me and she drew in a deep breath, hands folded neatly in her lap. _'LSPD here. Don't incriminate urself.'_ My heart sunk into the pit of my stomach and I sent her a devastated look. She nodded. For a moment, I debated walking right back out and driving home, but I doubted that would sit right with Mr. T. Or my wallet. Or my conscience. I won't no quitter.

I scribbled my name and pushed deeper into the club. Immediately, I grew uncomfortable. If there was anything more unsettling than a cop, it was a plain-clothes cop. I couldn't tell who was who or how many there even could've been as my eyes darted about the dim room. The lack of squad cars outside wasn't of any help either.

"Jackie, psst. Jackie," came someone's pitiful attempt at a whisper. I turned to the familiar man with his face full of piercings. There were two women still perched in his lap and he struggled keeping a straight face as he spoke.

"I-I remember you better now. The old you. It took me a while but I, uh, figured it out. You... You know, it was Trevor who killed all your friends, don't you, right?" he claimed.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about. I ain't got any friends-"

"Yes huh. The Lost-"

Before he could finish the sentence, I rushed into his narrow booth and clapped a hand over his chapped mouth. His greenish-blue eyes widened as he stared up at me. The women on his sides slithered away. Jaw clenching repeatedly, I brought my face dangerously close to his so he could hear me over the music.

"The Lost ain't and won't ever my friends," I hissed.

He pried away my hand.

"Is it 'cause of what they did to your brother?"

"Wade..." I warned through my teeth as my heart leapt into my throat.

"Hey! You do remember me. That's neat."

"I sold to you maybe a half dozen times, but like I said, I ain't been friends wit' 'em. Ever. Got it?"

He nodded slightly.

"And don't say nothin' to Mr. T. Okay?"

He nodded again, his mouth drooping. I gave the top of his head a small pat before quickly disappearing to the dressing room. Infernus was hunched over the counter with her hand pressed to her chest. I warily approached, sitting down my bag and standing beside her. I quietly watched as a shiver ripped through her body then suddenly, her arms were about my shoulders and she was sobbing into my neck. Like I said, either extremely well or horrific.

"It ain't fucking right!" she vaguely wailed. My eyebrows bunched together. I awkwardly stood there with my arms stiff by my sides as she wept. If it weren't for the music, surely everyone would have heard and came running. She pulled away with a huff and immediately started to work on fixing her makeup.

"Jess tell you about the police all up in here?"

"Yeah."

"You talked to any of them yet?"

"No-"

She tossed down a hairbrush.

"Leon's wife filed a missing person's report. Apparently he hasn't been home in weeks. _Weeks_. We both know what that could mean in this city."

I shook my head and placed a hand on her shimmery shoulder.

"We don't know that. Nobody does," I claimed, although there were other thoughts prancing around in my head.

"It ain't fucking right," she hissed again. "Everything he has ever done for us... And now something bad might've happened to him."

I took a seat on the stool beside her and began to take down my hair. It was easy for a city like this to open up and swallow people whole. He could have been caught in the crossfire of a shootout between rival gangs. He could be keeled over in a hotel room somewhere, overdosed on God knows what. He could have been killed in a mugging.

"Do you think Mr.T might have a club?" she spoke up. My face fell as I paused in smearing on a smoky eye shadow. It was a thought I had let cross my mind only once before I tucked it away. Leon disappeared as Mr. T came swooping in... What did that bouncer say? He had shown up covered in blood and just somehow managed to get the papers signed? What? Mr. T, whoever he wanted to be, was a subtle man. Trevor Philips, on the other hand, wasn't. I once watched from afar as he mowed down a trio of Lost MC bikers coming back from a supply run. Ashley would come back to the camp higher than a kite off of any and whatever Trevor cooked up. I had even heard he ate people and whatever he left behind ended up buried in the sand dunes all over the county.

"Y'know, he mighta. Leon mighta said somethin'," I muttered. _Or he killed Leon himself_.

"This is just way out of my league," Infernus sighed before turning away and leaving the dressing room. I finished the rest of my makeup and started to pull my outfit from its duffel when I heard hollering.

"Get out! All of yer! Leave! You ain't got a warrant! We're closed! Get!"

There was the sound of clatter and a woman screamed. The door swung open as I inched toward the commotion and my coworkers came scrambling into the room.

"What happened?" I pried, desperate to calm my anxious heart.

"Mr. T's closing shop for the night. He's not looking too happy," Juliet quickly explained as she pulled on a jacket and grabbed her purse.

"Can I get a ride home?" another girl asked.

"I got you," came Peach's voice as she too shimmied into an overcoat and a pair of shorts. Wasting no time, I turned back to the counter and started tossing my belongings back into the duffel in an effort to make a speedy departure. The music cut and the entire club went eerily silent. We all froze, eyes darting about as the old building's creaks could actually be heard for once. Mr. T came marching into the dressing room soon after, his eyes wild and bright like they had been the night he smashed a glass into my assaulter's face. He was wearing snow boots and a thick, bubble jacket that, for a second, make me consider it had to be the end of the world if the weather here had shifted so suddenly.

"Go home. All of you," he grumbled as he tugged at the jacket. We continued shuffling about, collecting makeup, hair products, and stringy clothing.

"We'll keep runnin' tomorrow evenin'," he stated. "Tell all yer little friends. Drinks are half-priced. Same shifts. 'cept you, Cinnamon. I wanna see you bright and early."

"Bright and early?" I echoed with a gulp. Fuck.

"You got class?" he checked. I considered lying, but with my luck, he would show up at the school looking for me.

"No, Mr. T. Not tomorrow."

"Nine in the morn. Bright and early. We got business to talk."

I simply stared after him as he marched for his office door. Just as he gripped the doorknob, he turned back around and glared my way.

"What? Am I talkin' to a brick wall?" he urged.

"Bright and early at nine, Mr. T," I quickly let out. "I'll be here."

"Now get outta here," his eyes scanned over the few girls still left behind lingering. "All of you. Be safe! There's plenty crazies out there this time of night!"


	8. Chapter 8

I wasn't so sure as to why so few people paid attention to Literature. Shakespeare, I could understand what with his long-winded, otherworldly phrases. Hemingway was different though. I had liked him in high school. He was basic. Now, not so much. Footnotes and analyzing and essays. I forgot how much I hated them. I hated them even more now that I had spent all night working on one rather than sleeping. I couldn't lie down and relax even if I wanted to. I was anxious. At least that work was out of the way, I guess. That was the easy part. Now, came the hard.

I drummed my thumbs on my steering wheel as I idled in my SUV at a red light a few blocks south of home. I was on my way to the gentlemen's club and the nerves were finally starting to set in.

What if I was the only person there? I don't think anyone had ever seen the club excessively empty before. What if Mr. T didn't show? Bullshit. He wouldn't miss it; he was the one who had set this up. I couldn't tell if he knew anything, but he definitely hadn't been in the best of moods yesterday. What if he wanted to talk about something I didn't want to talk about? He knew. He had to. Wade was able to recognize me and that kid was damn near brain dead. I wasn't the worst person from Blaine County. Most of us desert dusters were hippies, fighters, drug dealers, fiends, or alcoholics. Or all of the above, like Mr. T.

It wasn't long before I pulled into the lot where the Vanilla Unicorn sat, waiting. Mr. T's scarlet rust bucket was parked around the side of the club, crooked and taking up two spaces. That hadn't changed. I reversed into an empty space opposite the entrance and quietly started across the lot. A few pigeons pecked away at a what looked like a massacred burger from Cluckin' Bell strewn about the concrete. There wasn't a bouncer working the door. The receptionist wasn't seated just inside the door either. No music was playing, the DJ booth was empty. The purple and blue neon lights squeaked as they pivoted in their sockets and aimlessly bounced off of the assorted dark furniture. I turned to the bar and found Mr. T standing behind it, pouring whiskey into stout glasses.

"Jackie! Right on time. Have a seat!" he barked, a wicked smile on his face which immediately made me grow uncomfortable. Without a word, I claimed one of the wooden stools and dropped my duffel on the floor by my feet. He slid the second glass my way and gulped down his own drink.

"I don't drink. Sorry Mr.T," I declined with a wave.

"What? Yer kiddin'."

"No sir."

"Why not? One drink with ol' Uncle T won't kill ya, will it? Or am I asking too much of you, Straitjacket Jackie?" he pressured. Hearing that stupid nickname made me feel like I was going to puke. I had been so careful with leaving everything behind, up until now. Now, it was about to come barreling at me from behind two wild eyes, a weathered face and a CUT HERE tattoo.

My eyes started to mist over. I gripped the edges of the stool beneath me in an attempt to calm myself. He went on to pick up the second drink and swallow it down. The empty glass slammed against the counter top and he let out a sort of howl. I could feel the cold goosebumps shooting along my flesh despite the humidity lingering in the stuffy building.

"What do you have to say for yourself? Anything you wanna confess? Anything at all?" he pried. Mr. T rapped his knuckles before resting his elbows on the cool surface of the bar.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," I managed to quietly get out. My tongue felt numb and thick in my mouth. I was afraid to make any sudden move, afraid to blink, afraid to breathe too loudly just in case I missed something and he came at me swinging.

"Lets be honest with each other. I'm impressed. You were flyin' so low under my radar, I almost didn't even notice. I'll say, I've been a little distracted lately but yesterday, I had an epiphany about a few things. I was gonna kill your boyfriend, but we were rudely interrupted. On my way back to this shithole state, I realized maybe that was best. I couldn't have you walkin' 'round here, hatin' me. Plus he has a wife and kids and people like you who actually give a shit about him! But COME ON, Jacquelyn..." he leaned over closer and lowered his voice. "Mikey already has a family. You ain't replacin' any of them. Every night, he still goes back to that stupid mansion on top of Rockford Hills while you're left alone in that tiny apartment."

"Whatever you're tryna do or make me feel, you can stop. I don't care about Michael or his family or any of that. Get to the real reason why we're here," I ordered. One of his arms shot out and his left hand roughly gripped the back of my neck before he yanked me off the stool. I grabbed the counter to keep at bay, our foreheads and noses just millimeters apart.

"I gotta be worried about you crossin' me?" he rumbled in a low tone.

"N-No, Mr. T."

He squinted his eyes and let me go, shoving me backwards away from him as though he was disgusted. I let out a shaky breath and re-situated myself.

"The Lost... Only pansies need a whole gotdamn gang with matching outfits to feel tough. What did you do when you were with them? Wade told me he bought from you a few times," he pried.

"I did what I was told and dealt the crystal."

"Did you ever shoot up yourself?"

"Once," I revealed, eyes averted from the man in front of me. "It was miserable."

"If you'd gotten it from me, you would've had the time of your life," he claimed with a purr. I squirmed in my seat and clenched my jaw as his eyes danced over me.

"How many of them are left?"

"I wouldn't know. I ain't talked to any of 'em since I moved down here and I'm sure you found a way to deal with the lot of 'em on your own time," I explained.

"You're damn right I did. What made you leave?"

I finally looked to him, making sure he got a good look at the glare I cast.

"I already told you-"

"No," he snapped with a roll of his eyes. "Cut the theatrics, sugar tits. I know it wasn't just for school or work. It never fuckin' is. It was family, wasn't it? Or you were just being selfish? Or was it your brother?"

If it had been anyone else, I would've popped them square in their mouth and knocked out a few teeth. This was my boss, the county maniac, and there wasn't anyone bold enough to put their hands on him without a gun on their hip to follow. Instead, I fumed in silence, jaw and fists clenched tight.

"Why didn't they finish you off with him?"

"Because Sam wanted too much," I hastily blurted out to shut him up. "He got high and he got reckless and won't sellin' enough. He got caught up. Johnny K won't havin' that, so he took care of it himself. Okay?"

"And then you left for the city?"

"Yeah."

There was a tense silence between us as he stared at me, his chin propped on his hand like an entertained child.

"You riled up yet?" he asked. I scoffed.

"Is this your idea of a joke or somethin'? Bringin' up Michael and my brother? Shoving things down my throat that you know nothin' about?" I declared, hopping to my feet. He slid over the counter and shoved me back down in my seat.

"I'm tryna help ya," he claimed, his fingers digging into my shoulders as he attempted to massage out the tensions building in my body. I winced.

"I...don't need...help. Ow," I complained.

"Yeah. You do," came his voice from over my head. "You need closure."

"I don't," I insisted, trying to stand again only to be pushed back down.

"Bullshit! I brought up your brother and you knotted up like a fuckin' rope. What do you say we grab a drink and scope out a few things?" he suggested.

"I told you. I don't drink," I repeated.

"Well I do and I'm gonna need a DD," he explained. I shrugged away from his calloused touch and rolled my shoulders as I turned to look at him. I didn't care much for the man and there was no way he was inebriated enough to need a designated driver. His liver had to be made of steel by now. There was more he was leaving out.

"Where do you need to go?" I dared question.

"Yellow Jack Inn."

My head quickly shook back and forth.

"I ain't goin' to that place. I can't even go back to the desert," I claimed.

"Oh puh-lease. You're with Trevor Philips. I'm the safest motherfucker your sweet ass can find. I'm a gotdamn CEO. No one fucks with me and if they do, they ain't gettin' away with it for long," he laughed. There was an edge and eagerness in his voice. He had a plan and I obviously already had a mandatory part in it.

"Well what did you mean when you said closure?" I pried.

"Just stop by a few places and talk to a few people. That's it. I've got your back. Don't you worry your pretty little head."

"What about the club? You said-"

"I know what I said and we'll be back in plenty time for me to open these doors and for you to shake your rump. Deal?"

When I didn't answer immediately, he spoke up again.

"Go or I'll lay you off for a week," he threatened.

"Alright. Just...lemme use the bathroom before we hit the road," I let out, finally turning away from him and disappearing around the corner.

"You got three minutes!" I heard him call out before the wooden door to the unisex commode closed behind me. I made sure to turn the lock before I sat down. I turned on the water in the surprisingly spotless sink then pulled out my phone and dialed Michael's number. The fact no one answered and it went straight to voicemail did nothing to settle the quiver that had settled in my gut when Trevor mentioned killing him. What if it had been a lie and he actually did kill him? I thought about Tracey and, despite her issues, she and her brother shouldn't have to go on without a dad; especially if he was taken out by the hand of her own stand-in uncle.

I stared at the door, my only exit and entrance out of this tiny room. Part of me was waiting for it to come flying in off the hinges from a kick any minute with his voice growling something like "What's takin' ya, sugar tits!". A few silent seconds ticked past and I hurriedly pulled up my pants. The lights inside the club were all turned off and the front entrance was propped open, sending a single slab of light to brighten the dark hallway. Mr. T's head popped in and he raised an eyebrow.

"Lets go!"

When I joined him outside, he locked up the Vanilla Unicorn then hopped in the passenger seat of his truck.

"You ain't gotta be gentle. She's taken plenty beatings," he warned as I lowered myself into the driver's seat. I warily eyed the bullet hole in the dashboard where an airbag was supposed to come out of. He popped open the glove compartment and handed over a pair of Aviators.

"Safety first!" he jeered, sliding a pair over his own eyes after me. I turned the key and the engine roared to life, the entire rust bucket beginning to gently tremble beneath me.

"First stop: Yellow Jack Inn."

I nodded at his order and pulled away from the club. Although it looked old, busted, and one fender bender away from belonging to a junkyard, Mr. T's truck was sturdy. The pedals were looser than mine, so I found us hitting sixty-five miles per hour on the highway quicker than expected. He spoke up once I lifted my foot to tap the brakes.

"You're golden. No one is gonna stop this sweet ride," he said, lovingly patting the panel of his door. I glanced behind us in the rear view mirror as the city faded beneath the gentle hill. I don't know what I was looking for, but I was scared shitless as the orange dirt and sand dunes began to inch closer.

"Ronald!" he barked, making me jump. Out of the corner of my eye, I could make out the cell phone pressed to his ear.

"Get me a headcount of however many bikers are left. Yes, The Lost MC. Yeah, I know I already took them out of business, but I got some loose ends to tie off. Don't question my fucking methods! Just do what the fuck I said."

I swiped a few strands of hair behind my ear and chewed my bottom lip.

"Jesus. You are one nervous jitter bug now," he jeered. His hand came down on my knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Just smellin' the place feels weird. You mind if I...?" I questioned, retrieving the half empty pack of cigarettes from my back pocket. Without a word, he snatched my safe havens away from me and tossed them out of the vehicle. I gulped hard, refusing to start an argument. I eased onto the off-ramp and started us down Route 68. I sat up straighter in the seat and wiped my clammy hands on my pants one at a time. RVs smeared with red dirt and busted station wagons came and went around us. Various birds glided in wide circles against the mostly cloudless sky. I felt a bead of sweat roll between my shoulder blades and down my back. I drew in a deep, rattled breath as we pulled into one of few spaces in the dusty parking lot of the old bar.

As we neared the door, a man stumbled out clad in dusty coveralls and a Pisswasser beer bottle in his hands. It was only right out here for most to be drunk before noon.

"Is there a place in the world that I'd rather be, than drunk as a skunk at the Alamo Sea? I said to my wife, 'Bitch, I'm going out for a snack'. That was ten years ago and I ain't been back. Oh, show me the way to Sandy Shores. I've spent all my money on meth and on whooooooooooooores..." the man sang, then falling over himself and collapsing in the dirt. A few haggard looking men leaning in the shade of the building cursed and laughed at him before falling silent as Trevor walked past. I scurried along close behind my boss.

As expected, the air conditioning was still broken and the bar still reeked of chewing tobacco and stale cigarettes. I didn't think I ever needed one as bad as I did now.

"Well I'll be. Been a while since we seen the likes of you 'round here, Philips," the woman behind the bar greeted as she wiped out a squeaking glass.

"I got businesses to run, just like you, Janet. Let me get a beer," he ordered.

"Is that goin' on your imaginary tab or you fixin' to use actual money this time?" she asked, popping the top off of a bottle and sliding it to him regardless. He laughed and eased down to take a seat on one of the stools. No longer hidden behind his broad shoulders, every muscle in my body tensed. One of the old floorboards creaked beneath my feet and the entire bar seemed to grow quiet. The woman behind the bar finally looked away from Trevor and locked eyes with me.

"Hi Janet," I greeted in a small voice.

"Humph," she let out with a small scoff. "So they didn't kill you."

"No. They didn't."

"So you think you can just run off, leave me runnin' this place all by myself, then you can just show up, unannounced, and not give me a hug? That ain't the Straitjacket Jackie I helped raise," she scolded, slowly rounding the bar. I met her halfway and wrapped her thin frame in an embrace.

"It's just Jackie now," I explained once she let me go. "I ain't fightin' people no more."

"Just the other night she bashed a guy in the face and broke his nose. Don't get all shy now, cupcake," Trevor exclaimed.

"Did you say 'Straitjacket Jackie'?" a weather worn woman asked after she approached.

"Not now, Elaine. Mind your business. Ain't your dog need its lunch now?" Janet interjected, turning the stranger away before I could say anything.

"Have a seat," she gestured to a stool. "Don't you know you's famous 'round these parts?"

"I didn't."

"Trevor, you gonna buy your girlfriend a drink or what?" Janet proposed.

"Girlfriend?" he echoed then turned and looked me up and down. "With a rack like that, I fuckin' wish. She don't drink."

"I don't blame you, honey. Me either. Workin' bars will do that to ya. Here. Have a water," she bent over and pulled a water bottle from the fridge then slid a second beer in Trevor's direction. I wanted to suggest not another one, but I didn't work here anymore and it wasn't like he would listen to either of us either way. Hopefully his mind would still function.

"I-I'm famous out here, Janet?" I recalled with a frown.

"There's plenty talk. Jackie done been shot and her body thrown in the sea. Jackie went good and works as a private investigator with the BCPD. Jackie been seen in them mountains, killin' wild cats and boars with her bare hands. Jackie hidin' from them Lost down in the city," she explained.

"The last one. That's the only truth," Trevor spoke up.

"How'd you do it, kid?" Janet asked. I shrugged my shoulders.

"Don't no one ever get away from this place. Not fully like you did no ways," she noted with an impressed smirk. I reached around Trevor and plucked someone's smoldering cigarette out of an ash tray. He cut his eyes at me.

"Nobody takes your meth from you. Give her a break. She's shell-shocked," Janet dared chastise him as I took a few deep puffs before snubbing it out. All she got was an eye roll from him before he pushed away from the counter and stood to stretch.

"My buddy Ron just messaged me the intel. Let's go, Jackie," he ordered, already moving for the door.

"You better take good care of her, Philips. You won't get another drink if she comes up missin' or worse," she warned. He sent a thumbs up her way and pushed through the glass door. Janet reached across the bar and took one of my hands in both of hers then pressed it to her face. The gesture caught me off guard and glued me to the seat. There were tears in her eyes.

"What you got goin' for ya down there?" she quietly asked.

"I work. I just started school. I have an apartment too. And a cat," I explained. She smiled and a tear ran down her cheek. A pit settled in my chest. Day in and day out, we had been there for each other. When I lost my way and began to stray from The Lost, she fed me as best she could. Some nights, I would sleep on the pool table with a throw blanket. One night, I accidentally knocked out a fiend attempting to rob the place just before closing. In exchange, she gave me a job as both a barmaid and makeshift bouncer. Only I had just disappeared like the wind after a few months. For her, seeing me today must have been like seeing a ghost. Part of me still expecting her to curse me out.

"Where you workin'? Another bar?" she continued. I snorted and leaned over the bar to whisper.

"I'm a high-profile stripper."

She laughed once before kissing the back of my hand and giving it up.

"I love you like I love my own, Jacquelyn. Don't let him fuck up what you have," she declared. Her upper lip stiffened and she sent me a stern brow, pulling herself together as a few boisterous men pushed into the building.

"I won't," I said before giving my seat to a man and stepping back out in the blazing sun.

"About time! One more stop before our final destination. My place. Make a right after the train tracks," Trevor announced from the passenger seat of his idling vehicle. I hoisted myself into the driver's seat and started for his trailer.

"You gonna tell me what we're doin' out here?" I inquired.

"You'll see when we get there," he simply put it.

"We can't get to there if I don't know where there is," I complained. He cut his amber eyes at me.

"Don't let your little pep talk with Janet get you all spunky, hot pants. I'm still your boss," he stated.

"I ain't workin' right now, am I?" I trialed.

"Someone needs a cig, huh?" he jeered.

"It's not about the cigarettes. I wanna know why you've got me out here for some so-called closure."

He didn't say anything until I brought us to a stop outside of his trashy trailer.

"God, I miss this place!" he cried out, hopping from the truck and running inside. I quickly followed. He closed and opened what few cabinets still had doors on them. I kicked a few empty beer bottles. There were women and men's underwear on the floor. Cockroaches scattered between his boots as he stomped about. Molded dishes were piled in the sink and the smell of piss hung in the air. The entire thing was no unfamiliar sight, but it was unsettling after being away from it all for so long.

"Don't look so squeamish. I've seen that trailer park you once called home. Least you don't need a tetanus shot to live here," he remarked. He stepped into the bathroom and unzipped his pants. I shifted over to take a seat on the couch and run my hands over my sweaty face.

"You alright so far? Gonna make it?" he asked. I didn't hear the toilet flush or any water run, but he was already standing over the counter in the kitchen, rifling through drawers when I looked up again.

"I'm fine."

"Ronald!" he bellowed.

"Coming boss!" came a muffled voice from next door. He hummed in a satisfied manner before withdrawing a pipe and a bag full of an off-white substance. My stomach churned.

"I thought we had something to do?" I cautiously asked, eyes growing wide as he began to go to work with the drugs.

"This helps me concentrate. You should be worried when I ain't on the speed. It keeps my heart pumping."

I couldn't watch him, turning away to focus on the static buzzing on the television in the corner. I thought about what Janet said about no one ever making it out of the desert. This was why. Everyone was so doped up and wrapped up in everyone else's problems. There was always something bigger standing behind them, holding a rope that kept them in place. Samuel had been my string and when he died, he let go of my rope. It was such a bittersweet feeling, losing him and leaving this place. I had never felt so afraid and...so free. Sometimes, the fear would paralyze me at night and I would get tempted to pump so much meth into me that my heart stopped working. Then, just like that rare, cool breeze of air that blesses us desert dusters once every blue moon out here, I would remember that I was okay or Janet would remind me that I was okay and that things would work out. Neither of us knew how right she was at the time.

"Did you hear me?" came Trevor's stern tone and I snapped from my thoughts. He was holding a syringe out to me.

"No thank you," I declined, shying away from the drug.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, shooting what was left into his veins then pulling the belt off of his arm. He growled then it gave way to a rumbling purr then a deep hum that seemed to shake my own chest.

"There we go. Uncle T is back in business," he announced to no one in particular. The door to the trailer slapped open and in clambered a man wearing wide glasses, a knee brace, and a plaid red shirt.

"It's good to see you again, boss," he greeted in that anxious voice of his. His eyes turned my way and grew two sizes too big for his face.

"Straitjacket Jackie. What're you-"

"Relax, Ron. She's with me now. She had a change of heart," Trevor explained in a voice so soft it didn't fit him. Ron crossed his arms over his chest, uncrossed them, then crossed them again.

"S-She's alive, is what I'm askin', boss."

"Of course she is. That ain't no ghost. Now be a gentleman and greet the lady," Trevor ordered through his teeth. Now he was hunched over the counter, his hands and feet being the only steady things keeping him upright. His eyes were closed and he swayed slightly on his feet. Ron took a few cautious steps over before extending a hand my way.

"Ron, Jackie. Jackie, Ron. We've all heard of each other. Ronald, you got my shit?" Trevor asked, his eyes still closed. I shook Ron's hand and returned my attention to Trevor.

"Yeah, I got it, boss. It's in the back of your truck. Do you need me for this? I-I'm not sayin' you do necessarily, but if you do, you know all you gotta do is say so. Business ain't great yet, but with most of The Lost and Aztecas out the way, it's pickin' up. I...I been real lonely out here by myself, boss. Is Wade with you, by chance? Is...Is he okay?"

"No, just keep doing what you been doing. I need you in one piece to manage Trevor Philips Industries while I'm away. Wade's fine. Maybe I'll bring you to my new place and you can pick yourself out a nice lady to make up for the shit that cunt wife of yours put you through. Let's go, Jackie."

"That...That's right, boss. She was a cunt. N-Nice knowing you're on our team now, Jackie," Ron stammered. Trevor gave his shoulders a roll and strolled right out of the trailer like he hadn't just been stumbling about. I watched him hurry down the stairs then hoist himself over the door and take the driver's seat.

"I can keep driving," I suggested, noting the hint of red rimming his. He stared right at me with a vacant, glassy expression.

"You can get your ass in the passenger seat is what you can do," he sort of croaked. I rounded the truck and eyed weapons in the bed that weren't there at first. My stomach did a somersault. Ron waved from the porch as Trevor shifted into drive and sped away from his house, kicking up dirt and rocks behind us. My knees nervously jumped beneath me. I hadn't held a gun since I was an active member of The Lost. I hoped they weren't for me. Closure. I frowned, noting we were heading right on around the calm Alamo Sea. Even from a distance, I could see Stab City wasn't the same as it had been when I left.

"There's supposedly three of 'em today. Ron said they keep a few stragglers around to ward thieves and fiends off from what remains. We can keep comin' back till there's nothin' left to remember 'em by, if you wanna."

"What? We're goin' to The Lost camp?"

"Don't you wanna see what I did to your friends? They ruined your life."

"No," I answered with a scoff. "I wanna go back to Los Santos and go back to livin' my life."

"You been spendin' too much time around Mikey. You're startin' to sound like him," he complained with a grimace.

"Trevor... Mr. T... I told you. I don't need any closure. Can we please go back?" I pleaded.

"Too far in now," he brought the truck to a sharp stop just inside the camp and laid on the horn. Blood rushed in my ears and my heart hammered hard in my chest. I heard a motorcycle roar to life and inched lower in the street to hide.

"No ma'am. Today, you fight. Today, you get your revenge!" he howled. He gripped a handful of my shirt and pulled me from the truck.

"It's fuckin' Philips!" someone declared. Trevor shoved a pistol into my hands before grabbing a sawnoff shotgun himself and marching for the trailers. A motorcycle started down the dirt road toward us, but the driver was blasted backward with a single shot from Trevor's gun. The noise made my ears ring. I jumped and slid out of the way to avoid another cyclist headed my way.

"Shoot him, Jackie!" Trevor boomed, shooting another. He collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap. I lay in the dirt, eyes frozen on the body by Trevor's feet. He stepped over it without a care before grabbing my arm and dragging me to my feet. The last cyclist did a U-turn and came barreling at us, firing his own pistol and missing.

"Jackie! Shoot!" Trevor snarled as the distance between us began to close. The thick wheels kicked up dirt before he too was knocked backward with the force of Trevor's blast. I gasped as the man landed less than a few feet away from the both of us. I stared at his body for a moment before the man rolled onto his stomach with a groan and started to crawl away.

"I'll give you another chance, Jacquelyn," Trevor grumbled through his teeth. He gripped the leather jacket of the Lost member and dragged him my way. I drew in a shaky breath and whimpered it back out. Trevor kicked away the man's gun then flipped him onto his back so he could get a good look.

"J-Jackie?" the man on the ground coughed. "That you?"

"You're damn right it's here and she's here to make amends!" Trevor excitedly let out. He was practically dancing in his boots. The familiar smell of gunpowder and blood was starting to make me sick. Trevor shuffled closer to me, brushing my shoulder with his arm.

"Are you telling me, I brought you all the way out here for some ol' fashioned revenge killing...only for me to be the one doing the killing?" he asked in my ear. I continued to look away from the sight of it all, eyes rimming with tears.

"Jackie, this ain't gonna make you feel better. It won't us who done that to your brother and you know it. That was all Johnny's move and if I had known that he would-"

Trevor fired a round off into the faintly familiar man's face right in front of me, shutting him up forever. I shuddered and turned away from Trevor, who was still frowning down at me from the bridge of his nose. He snatched away the gun I had forgotten was even in my hand.

"Get in the truck," he rumbled. I crossed one arm over my chest and held myself tight, struggling to keep everything together.

"Jackie-"

I turned away from him and started for the trailer that had once been my home toward the back of the ruined trailer park. A few motorcycles still sat, gleaming a little less with their kickstands dug into the ground. One trailer had been reduced to nothing but its charred foundation. I could hear Trevor following behind me. A seagull cried out overhead. I rounded the side of my rusted trailer and stopped just outside the makeshift back door. There in the ground sat the cement cross I had went broke buying for my brother's grave. Johnny K had made sure no one gave Samuel a funeral or even a small service. There was no real mourning. I'd had to dig the grave myself, or they would've just left him laying there in the rain until the coyotes got to him and I wouldn't live with that. There was grass growing over the mound of dirt now and the flowers I had left were long gone. I placed a hand on the cement cross and choked back a sob.

"I'm sorry. I...I didn't know you had him buried here-"

"Of course you didn't," I snapped over my shoulder.

"If I'd known, I wouldn't have arranged this. This is sacred. This is yours," Trevor claimed, frantically fishing for empathy.

"Fuck your change of heart, Mr. T or Trevor or whoever the fuck you are. This wasn't about closure. This was about you gettin' high and gettin' your rocks off killin' some bikers with the help of some chick who you thought would relate 'cause y'all live in the same place. This won't ever about closure."

"Jackie, you coulda gotten yours. I'm tellin' you."

"If I wanted mine, I woulda had to come back here months ago and kill Johnny K myself, but you already took care of that. And over what? Not me or my brother. You ain't know shit about either of us so you don't get to pick and choose my 'closure'. It was about your own agenda. So thank you, Mr. T. Thank you for bringin' me back to this here hell hole and disrespectin' his restin' sight and lettin' everyone know that Straitjacket Jackie is still alive. Maybe someone will come lookin' now and will finish me off like Sam, then I won't hafta worry 'bout nothin' no more. Thank you, Mr. T, for helpin' ruin my day and probably my life."

He stared at the cross for a moment before turning and disappearing around the trailer. I heard the truck start back up and pull up in front of my trailer. I knelt down and pressed a kiss to the cement before climbing in the vacant passenger's seat. Although under the influence, Trevor drove like I had jarred something in him and he now had sense. He stopped us in front of Ron's trailer, who ran outside and grabbed the guns before disappearing again.

"Here. You drive," Trevor climbed out of the truck and walked around the front. It wasn't until he popped open the passenger door and stood there like a lost dog did I slide over the center console and take the driver's seat, starting us back through the desert for Los Santos.

The radio wasn't on. There was no laughter or edginess of the situation in the air. My eyes hurt and I was sure the tips of my ears were already slightly sunburnt.

"You know, I had a brother too," Trevor spoke up once we were in city limits.

"Don't talk to me right now," I quietly ordered. "When we stop, I'm gonna get in my truck and I'm gonna drive on home and get ready for work tonight. We ain't talkin' about today ever. Got it?"

He nodded a few times and started to peck away at his cell phone as I grew silent and focused on the highway in front of us, hoping the pain in my chest would go away.


	9. Chapter 9

"Jackie! Hi, wait up!" came Tracey's voice somewhere from behind me. I looked up from the text I was trying to send to her father and flashed a fake grin, tucking away my phone after the message failed to send. Again.

"Hey Tracey," I replied as she came jogging across one of our school's dark green lawns. She fell into step alongside me and we continued for the parking lot.

"You look exhausted," she noted, hugging her books to her chest and walking backward to keep an eye my way.

"Little bit," I answered with a small nod.

"School coming down on you hard already?" she asked.

"Not really."

"Oh my gosh. So, I got the cutest, tiny rose tattoo around my belly button yesterday. As usual, my dad wasn't around to stop me and mom's been too drunk to notice. You've gotta see it," she gushed.

"Maybe later."

"What are your thoughts on lunch?"

"Now?" I asked, failing to hide a groan.

"Wow. Your panties are in a serious knot today. What is up?" she pried.

"Yesterday was a long day. I'm tired and I have work tonight," I explained.

"Okay," her voice softened. "Well, I told a few of my other friends we'd meet them at Wraps Fresh, but if you're not up for it, we can scrap the lunch."

"Maybe we could take it down a notch? Stay in once I get a night off? Order takeout? Rent some movies? I don't go out much and bein' seen ain't really my thing."

"We could do that, yeah. Some much needed one on one girl time. I like the way you think, Jackie," she agreed, grinning once more. As we neared my truck at the end of the lot, my stomach wrenched into a knot. There was a metal, yellow boot locked around the rim of my front, right tire.

"You're fuckin' kiddin'!" I bellowed.

"Pay your citations. After that, my buddy and I will be more than willing to take it off so you can go on about your life," a security officer explained as he came strutting around my vehicle. He pointed across the street where Officer Henderson was standing, still sporting a bandage across his nose from when I had attacked him. He had the nerve to wave and smile.

"You slitherin' pile of-"

"I'll take you wherever. I owe you. Just drop it," Tracey warned, grabbing my arm as I started for the guard. She pulled me in the direction of her car and I gave up the attitude bubbling beneath my surface.

"You know, let's just drop everything and go somewhere. There's plenty in this city I'm sure you haven't seen yet. Sometimes, I forget you're not from around here until you open your mouth and say something," she urged, nearly dragging me across the humid lot. I silently fumed as I popped open the passenger door on a cherry red convertible she had just unlocked.

"This is my mom's," Tracey explained as she started the engine. "She's been on a stir-crazy bender since dad sorta just disappeared, so she won't mind."

"Your dad disappeared?" I echoed.

"Duh. Nothing out of the norm."

"He do that a lot?" I pried, curious about whatever information I could get on Michael. His lack of communication and what Mr. T had revealed was taking its toll. I would have whiplash soon.

"Well, yeah. He always takes a shitty hiatus when he's in trouble. That, or he's holed up in a hotel room, screwing some prostitute or stripper," she claimed and I cringed. "It's ridiculous. He treats me, mom and Jimmy like we can go on the back burner whenever he sees fit. Hey. Where're we going?"

"Take a left here. My place, please, in Alta. Right across the street from all that construction. I've gotta get myself together for work then figure out how I'm gonna get there," I explained.

"I can defs take you to work if you need a lift."

"No, it's okay. I clock in real late. I'm sure you'll have plans with your boyfriend or somethin' by then," I insisted. Telling her to pull up in front of the Vanilla Unicorn wouldn't sit well, and hopping out of the car someplace else then booking it down the road once she pulled off wasn't on my to do list.

"I'm not busy. Just a little homework. Other than that, not really. Frankie's going to that club again tonight. Maybe I'll tag along with him and make sure he keeps his hands to himself," she explained with a small laugh. I clapped a hand to my forehead. The sheer determination on this one.

"No way! Don't ruin it for him," I quickly exclaimed and she sent me a peculiar look. I sat up and started frantically speaking with my hands.

"I meant, that's your boyfriend and if you trust him, there ain't no need in hoverin' 'round him in there like some kinda bloodhound. You and me, we can go someday together on our own. This weekend. We can figure out somethin' then," I yammered. I had three days to come up with a plan.

"I have a tattoo appointment to get my back piece touched up on Saturday-"

"I'll go with you," I added with a long blink. Fuck.

"I am totally digging this eagerness. Carpe fucking Diem. Seize the day!" she cheered.

"Seize the day," I repeated in a quieter tone, settling in the seat. The fuck ton of bullshit coming at my face was starting to stink and drive me crazy. Seeing Janet cry. Seeing Sam's resting place again. Those bikers. What Mr. T had tried to make me do. That one biker who had so much to say, but not enough time... I shuddered slightly and gnawed on my bottom lip, eyes focused on the passing surroundings and my hair whipping in the wind. These feelings weren't exactly new. They almost ate me alive when I first started life in the city, so I knew how to cope. They would go away and I would be okay again. It was just a matter of time and patience.

Tracey pulled off a wily U-turn in traffic and swiftly tucked us in one of the open spaces in front of my apartment complex.

"Can I come in and use your bathroom? I'll be out of your hair after that if you need me to be," she pitched.

"Yeah," I agreed, grunting slightly as I forced myself out of the small car and stretched before leading the way to my place. Several tenants on the balcony waved and I was sure it was because of Tracey. I had never been greeted by anyone other than the landlord.

"Bathroom is down the hall on the right. Be careful. I have a cat that likes to sleep in the sink," I explained, quietly eyeing the unfamiliar pair of dress shoes lying lopsided by the couch. Tracey was too busy scurrying down the hall to notice. Someone had been in my apartment. Or was still here.

"The one on the left, right?" Tracey called over her shoulder.

"On your right," I corrected, quickly pulling open the closet by the front door and swiping up the metal baseball bat I kept for moments like these.

"Tracey! What the fuck!" a familiar voice boomed.

"Dad? What the hell are you doing here?"

I gasped so hard that it made my throat hurt and I started a coughing fit as I hurried back to the shouting.

"I said the door on your right!" I shrieked, staring at Tracey as she stood toe to toe with Michael. He was standing in the middle of my bedroom, shirtless with a half empty bottle of booze in his hand. I grimaced. This was not going to end well.

"Tracey. Baby girl. What're you doing here?" he asked. He stumbled slightly before taking a seat on the edge of my bed. There were blotches of dried blood on his slacks and I was sure he had been drinking for a while.

"Jackie and I are friends, but I guess you two can't say the same," she shot back, casting a cold gaze my way.

"Tracey, I've been at school all morning and this place was empty when I left. You know-"

"Save it," she put up a hand and I had half a mind to slap it out of my face. But she was right and I was feeling shitty again.

"He knows where you live. Do I even wanna know how and why?" she hissed. I couldn't come up with a lie quick enough, not with eyes as bright as her dad's boring into mine and dicing our friendship to bits.

"Tracey, I didn't-"

She put up her hand again before marching out of the room. I shot Michael a glare then followed behind her. She stopped just inside my front door and spun around to face me.

"I should've known better. Especially when it comes to him. He ruins everything," she cut her eyes over my shoulder then flashed her middle finger at her father, who was inching up the hall. I didn't say anything until I closed and locked the door behind her.

"What the hell, Michael? What're you doin' here?"

"I needed a place to lay duck," he nonchalantly explained.

"So you chose here? Not a motel? Not with your friend Franklin or Trevor?" I shrieked, tugging at my hair.

"Trevor hates my fucking guts right now. And Franklin, well he's the one who dropped me off and let me in," he explained.

"Let you in?" I echoed, at his heels as he sauntered into my kitchen.

"He picked the lock. I couldn't go back home looking like this," he complained. He stood still long enough for me to get a good look at his face, battered and scratched. There were bruises on his shoulders and even more blood under his fingernails. I scoffed, disgusted.

"What'd you do?"

"What did I do?" he remarked as he started digging through the contents of my refrigerator.

"You're covered in blood and all of it ain't yours, which meant somethin' happened. Somethin' big and I ain't waitin' 'round long for answers, Mr. De Santa," I urged.

"Mmph. Don't call me that," he complained. "It's been a rough couple of days, Jackie. I just... I couldn't let my wife and kids see me like this. They wouldn't handle it well."

"So you ignore all my calls then break into my place to hideout?"

"I wasn't counting on you ever bringing Tracey home with you. I mean, you two can't be that close," he ridiculed.

"Yeah? And Tracey wasn't countin' on me bringin' you home either, but we see how both of those turned out," I snapped.

"Enough with the low blows. I get it. You're pissed."

"And you're stallin'. What did Trevor do to you?" I finally inquired. Both men had a way of pushing everyone's buttons at once.

"Trevor?" he asked with a scoff. "How'd you know?"

"He mighta spoke on it.

"Yeah, I bet. Bragging lunatic. All this..." he gestured down at his dirty frame. "His Chinese friends did this to me. I got kidnapped by a gang of them up in North Yankton. They went to town on me thinking they could get to him through me, but he hung me out to dry. Thank fucking goodness."

"Chinese? North Yankton?" I frowned.

"It's this small town... Never mind. It's not important. What's important is right now, Trevor probably thinks I'm dead or still with those Chinese pricks. He can't know I'm back in San Andreas, at least not yet. He's gotta cool down first. He'll fucking kill me. Hell, he'll probably come for my family."

"He ain't killin' your family, no," I insisted, shaking my head. "Tracey said he's like her uncle. He can't be that crazy."

He reached out and took my hand in one of his.

"I fucked up, Jackie. I fucked up and I burned the only friends, err, friend I ever had," he claimed. I snatched my hand away from him, brow furrowed.

"Burned? What? Are you drunk?"

"Not nearly as much as I want to be, no. I guess I gotta tell you cause I'm sure at this rate, the FIB has probably been watching you too," he continued. He slowly stood and swayed on his feet. With all the blood smeared on his pants, I was surprised there hadn't been a trail all over my place to follow. He looked like he'd been beaten and left bleeding like a hog somewhere.

"Well what do you mean the FIB has probably been watchin' me? What did I do?" I tried.

"The night we left the strip club together, you sealed your fate. Everyone I associate with gets wrapped into all my shit and I ruin them."

"Bull," I declared. "I can't be ruined any worse than I already am. Now, what the fuck happened?"

He chuckled as he opened up a cabinet and pulled out a beer.

"Why is there alcohol in my apartment?" I asked, eyes momentarily closing as I struggled to keep track of the day's events. There was a boot on my truck. I needed a ride to work. Michael was battered and bruised, somehow laying duck in my apartment away from his family and Trevor, who had coincidentally delivered me an ultimatum as well. Whatever was left of The Lost would know I was alive. And Tracey probably hated my guts by now.

"I asked Franklin to buy some after he dropped me off. I really needed it Jackie, I mean it. If it weren't for that kid, I would probably be shipped across the state in different cans of beef stew by now," he explained. "If you wanna be mad at anyone, it's him. I told you, he jimmied the lock and let me in."

"I'll deal with Franklin. Your attempt at changin' the conversation ain't gon' work. Explain this FIB nonsense now. I got enough people gunnin' for me. I don't want the feds on the list too," I claimed. He let out a long sigh and stared at me for a moment, deep in thought as though he wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm not originally from here. Me and Mandy, we used to live in North Yankton. She got pregnant. We got married. Then, the jobs just got more dangerous and Trevor was getting crazier. I had to do something to get my family out of there alive. I met with an agent and he offered me an out into witness protection in exchange for some favors, but the wrong person got shot. Come on, Jackie. You know what that's like. You told me you left all your shit behind and started over here too."

"Shut the fuck up. I am not like you. I didn't 'burn' anyone in the process. What's 'witness protection' mean? Who are you?"

"Come on already. I'm me. The only thing different is my last name. I still rob, steal, and kill for a living, but I'm getting better every day. I've got to."

"You're gettin' better? Then whatchu doin', hidin' out from your wife and kids, all covered in blood and shit?" I declared. He exhaled hard through his nose.

"I'm working a few things out right now. I swear. I'll wrap everything up soon. Just stop yelling at me, alright? I can't think straight with a million and one things going on," he insisted.

"You're tellin' me," I mumbled. He rounded the corner and wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

"I think you should get cleaned up and go home," I suggested.

"Okay? So you want me to endanger my family? That's good to know."

"I don't want you endangerin' anyone. Take responsibility for your actions. I want you to be there for Tracey!" I exclaimed, shouldering away from him. He peered down at me, eyes wide. I let out a huff and plopped down on a stool, tucking my hair behind my ears.

"You seem like you really liked her. I hope I didn't mess things up too much," he said. I shook my head.

"It can't be that bad. She's told me I've ruined her life a dozen times, but she still calls me dad and gives me hugs. I'm sure she'll forgive and forget," he sighed. After a moment, he pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one over. I stuck it between my lips, lit it, then took a drag. He did the same before slowly lowering himself onto the stool beside me.

"You worry about your problems and I'll worry about mine. Trevor wants to kill you, but he won't. He woulda done it already. You're his best friend and you fucked him over, but he ain't comin' after your family for it. You got fuckin' kids and a wife. Jimmy and Tracey need their dad. Growin' up without a decent one sucks, I think we all know that. And apparently Amanda misses you too. She needs her husband, even if he is a cheating shit bag like her."

"That hurt," he dryly joked.

"Besides, the more time I spend with you, the worse I feel about Tracey. Let's face it, you're a shitty dad to her. She talks about you so much and you're not even there. Besides, I can't fuck you without seein' her eyes in yours now and it's weird as hell," I explained.

"One more time? Just for the road?" he tried.

"Fuck you. All I keep seeing is her face when she found you in my bedroom," I grunted. "You've gotta do better. If not for whatever twisted world you got goin' on, do it for them."

"Everything I've ever done has been for Amanda and the kids. You think I steal and kill for fun? You think I like the FIB breathing down my neck?"

"You're an older man with a stripper kink. There's a bit of a thrill chaser in you."

"Fuck you," he laughed this time. The room was riddled with silence and cigarette smoke.

"But seriously, Michael. We gotta stop. I mean, the one person who was helping me build a social life just found her dad in my house lookin' completely wrecked and I had no excuse for it," I noted, pivoting in the seat to face him. He leaned over and kissed me once.

"Your tricks ain't workin' on me. Tracey's grown on me and I've got makin' up to do. You got bigger things to worry about. We both do."

"What's your deal?" he questioned.

"Trevor," I said with a sigh.

"Big surprise there."

"He went and woke up a few skeletons sleepin' in my closet."

"Yeah, right. You're harmless."

"Psh. You saw my baseball bat. I've got a mean swing," I shot back with a smirk. "Anyway, I used to run with a gang in the desert. One of 'em killed my brother, so I fled and wound up here. Long story short, now they know I'm alive and in cahoots with their rival, Trevor Philips."

"That sounds familiar. Who's saying they're even looking for you?"

"Someone is always lookin'."

"I won't let anything happen to you," he remarked, turning his light eyes my way. I laughed once.

"Oh please. You can't keep yourself outta trouble. Mind your business, Mr. De Santa or whatever your last name is."

"It was Townley."

"No shit? You were the Michael Townley?" I squawked.

"See?" he snubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and started on his meal. "This is exactly why I did what I did."

"Every junkie, dealer, and cook from north to south of the west coast heard of you," I jeered, grinning from ear to ear. "I can't believe I slept with the late Michael Townley, the serial thief. I heard they used to call you Sticky Fingers out in Grapeseed."

"You want a fucking autograph?"

"Sorta."

It was quiet again, so I put out my own cigarette and stood.

"Well, I've gotta arrange a way to get to work and clean this place up," I looked at the empty bottles of alcohol in my sink. The irony smell of blood in the air was tearing my senses to pieces.

"Call Frank. He runs a taxi depot. I'm sure he'll give you some sort of discount for managing to be friends with Tracey this long."

"She's not that bad. I'm helpin' as best I can. Which is why I'm givin' you twenty-four hours to get cleaned up and go home," I proposed.

"Cutting me off isn't bothering you any?"

I shrugged a shoulder and dug my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

"Sorta. I mean, I liked you, but Trevor had a point. You've already got a family. I'm used to bein' alone. I get plenty of attention at work, anyway."

"So if I scare off your clients, you'll have to settle for me," he suggested.

"Scare off my clients and I'll have no money, which means no apartment, which means you'll meet Straitjacket Jackie up close and personal," I lightheartedly threatened.

"Leave whoever that is wherever she is at. She sounds crazy," he noted. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to pluck away at the screen.

"What're you doin'?"

"Calling Franklin. What time do you go to work?"

"Nine."

"I've got you. Go get cleaned up and stuff, gorgeous. Sorry for the mess," he said with a dismissive wave. He picked up a bottle of beer and poured the contents down the drain.

"See, changing for the better already," he announced.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Damn. I know you not from around here, but are you expecting a cold front or something, homie?" Franklin joked as I pushed out of my apartment and locked the door with Michael behind me later on that evening. I ignored his quip directed at the long peacoat I was wearing. I didn't know how long of a taxi ride it would turn into, so I had decided to prematurely slip into my white lingerie and hide it with a coat. My strappy, black stilettos ticked and tacked across the pavement.

"Feeling better, Mike?" he questioned with a wink as he dapped him up.

"I've seen worse days," he answered as he tugged at the tie of his wrinkled suit, which I had tried to clean and iron myself.

"If you would've told me Jacquelyn was the 'friend' who wanted you to stay here, I definitely would've called bullshit," Franklin jeered.

"Bite me," Michael said with a shrug. I eyed the sports car idling along the curb and raised an eyebrow.

"That your chariot?" I asked.

"My pride and joy. Hop in. This one is on the house. Where we going?" Franklin checked.

"You're gonna drop her off at work, then you and me gotta talk business before you take me home, kid," Michael explained. He climbed in the back seat, letting me take the passenger beside Franklin.

"Where're we headed?" he asked, shifting into drive and starting into the late night traffic.

"The Vanilla Unicorn," I sighed out. I expected the car to fill with hot air or for him to burst into laughter then ask where we were really going. Instead, he nodded and pulled away from the curb.

"What'd I tell ya? My boy Frank's got you covered," Michael mused. The leather interior squeaked and I felt his hands reach around the headrest to give my shoulders a gentle squeeze. I looked over at Franklin as he kept his eyes focused on the road.

"I know what you thinking, but it ain't even necessary. Business is business. It's better than exchanging dime bags and shooting guns, I say. Shit, you're doing way better than most. We all gotta start somewhere, homie. Before Michael's dumbass got me fired from my ol' ponzi scheme ass repossession job? Shit. I was gang-banging with my boys and hitting unsuccessful lick after unsuccessful lick," he explained.

"You hated that job. I did you a favor," Michael claimed.

"That ain't that point I'm tryna get past right now," Franklin said with a roll of his eyes. "What I'm saying is, don't worry about what other people gon' say about where you work. Fuck 'em. I done threw hella dollars down in that place. Y'all fine as fuck in there. Just do you. You got a cash flow. You putting yourself through school. You got your own place. You don't wanna know the fucked up shit I had to do to get my own house. It's ugly out here, so just do you, man. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

I cracked a smile, a genuine one that showed my teeth and made my eyes narrow.

"What time you get off? I can arrange to have someone waiting to get you home safe," he proposed when he pulled into the lot illuminated with purple and pink neon lights.

"Three in the morning," I stated, again expecting some sort of cringe.

"Oh. I'll come by and scoop you myself," he volunteered.

"Hey. It's alright, Franklin. I'll have my car by then. I'll get her," Michael proposed.

"If you really wanna do me a favor, stop by ULSA and pay my fines so I can have my truck back," I shot over my shoulder.

"Done and done-"

"No. Don't really do that, Michael. You've done enough for me," I sat up in the seat and let out a huff. "Both of you. Thanks, but I gotta get back on track by myself."

Tracey hated me and spending time with two of the most important men in her life wasn't going to make me feel any better about the situation. I popped open my door, rounded the car and pushed into the buzzing club.

"There she is," Mr. T immediately growled. He was sitting in Jessie's seat behind the hole in the wall with a toothpick between his teeth. I could just barely make out the top of Jessie's head bobbing up and down in his lap. I flashed a disgusted frown and scoffed.

"Less teeth, sugar, or you'll be slurping your meals up through a straw," he threatened beneath the table. He used his tongue to twirl around the toothpick as I wordlessly clocked in on a sheet of paper.

"How ya doin' on this beautiful night, Jacquelyn?" he asked.

"Fine," I curtly responded. His eyes glimmered, watching me, and I was finally able to find a name for the wild look. I had seen it when we were in his trailer. He was high. I signed my name on the dotted line, handed over the paper and started through the club. There was a table full of guffawing men tucked into the corner at the bottom of the stairs. I'd be sure to swing their way. Cigarette smoke was heavy in the still air and Pham's "Movements" blasted through the speakers while Infernus swayed about on the pole. I pushed through the purple curtains and started clearing my head for the night. I shimmied out of the pea coat and hung it on the metal rack then plopped down on a stool to pluck through the makeup littering the counter. I had a few minutes to spare before my stage routine was to begin after Infernus.

"Jackie!"

My eyes closed and I let out a deep sigh. Mr. T was fastening the belt wrapped around his hips when he came marching into the back room.

"I need you in my office," he ordered, continuing right past where I was seated. My eyes rolled.

"I go on in a few. You know that," I insisted.

"This'll only take long if you make it," he grunted as he uncomfortably tugged at the groin of his pants. "So move your ass."

He stood in the doorway, holding the door open with a deviously grim look plastered on his weathered face. I hesitated before brushing past and stepping into the stuffy office. He closed the door behind us then rounded his desk. I stood fast by one of the two exits, cautious. If he was anything like he had been out in the desert, I didn't want to be too close.

"Heads up!" he called without warning. I jumped and sidestepped the blur flying through the air as he lobbed something my way. A handgun clattered around my feet.

"Jesus! What the hell are you doin'?" I shrieked, glaring his way. Part of me was afraid of the expression on his face. The un-calculated and unpredictable light dancing in his eyes made me uneasy. I had seen it too many times before on various face, my brother's included. Trevor Philips usually left behind some form of destruction wherever he went when he was like this.

"That look familiar?" he asked, nodding at the weapon by my feet. I glanced down at it and swallowed hard.

"It's the same one you gave me when we went to Stab City," I answered. "What about it?"

"Your fingerprints are on it," he purred, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together in his lap. The smug look on his face made my mouth go dry.

"After we went our separate ways, I mighta been a bad boy and went back," he claimed.

"What did you do?" I strained through my teeth.

"Enough."

"You're bluffin'."

"Maybe I am..." he opened his arms and grinned. "Maybe I ain't."

"Fuck you."

"No thanks, I'm fine. Jessie finished me off as best she could. I'll cut the chitchat, sugar tits. I ain't blackmailin' you. I'm just sayin' that maybe you can offer your services over to Ron and I in exchange for a favor."

"That's blackmail. I've got work to do-"

"Walk out of this room and you can find yourself a new job," he boldly claimed. I stopped in my tracks with one hand wrapped around the doorknob. The taste of metal danced on my taste buds and goosebumps dotted my exposed arms, legs, and stomach. I took a step back away from the door and slowly pivoted to face him.

"There we go..." he cooed.

"Whatever you're sellin', I ain't buyin'. You got some nerve droppin' bombs like that," I scolded, fists tightening by my sides.

"I'm telling you, Jackie. I'll need ya help maybe once a week."

"Well what the fuck is it?"

"I wanna expand TPI further south," he stated. My brows knit together.

"The hot under belly of this city is screamin' for crank and guns. All it needs it's a little push. Ron's handling the county. I'll need your help down here."

"I don't do that anymore!" I bellowed, my anger finally getting the best of me. "And you don't have the right to try and force me back into it. Ain't you did enough? Ain't you already fucked up? You think I don't know you killed Leon? You think I ain't been thinkin' 'bout callin' the police and leadin' 'em right to you, just to get you out of my hair?"

"Call 'em," he said with a shrug. He snatched at the phone sitting on the corner of his desk, pressed a few buttons, and handed the receiver over to me.

"Nine one one. What is your emergency?" a woman's monotonous voice came from the other end. The club's music faltered slightly and it seemed I felt the entire building grow a bit slower and quieter.

"What is your emergency? Hello?" the woman on the other end repeated. Mr. T's amber eyes bore into me as I stood across from him, my entire body trembling from head to toe. I wanted nothing more than to swipe up the gun at my feet and point it right between his eyes then pull the trigger. I had never killed anyone before, but fighting Mr. T wasn't an option, especially when he was jacked up on meth. He'd fucking annihilate me.

Finally, he hung up the phone and slowly sat up straighter in his chair.

"Straitjacket Jackie don't scare me none. Threaten me again and we'll have a real issue on our hands," he rumbled. "Now, do we have a deal? You got till you clock out to think about it or get the fuck out."

"I'll help myself out," I let out in a rush. I snatched open the door and hurried from the office before he could say anything else.

"Where're you running off to? You're supposed to be on stage!" Infernus frantically claimed from her seat at the counter. I didn't answer, snatching my pea coat off the rack and pulling it back on over my frame. My fingernails were digging into the skin of my palms so hard that I could feel the start of the cuts being left behind. I was clenching my teeth together so hard that my jaw was beginning to throb. My eyes burned with tears of rage, disgust, and hurt.

I would've rather died than go back to ruining people's lives with drugs that tore apart personalities and guns used to kill God knows who. I was doing well. I was doing so well. Even Franklin saw it. Franklin. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number as I hurried through the dim club. A few regular customers hooted and hollered my way, but I didn't stop moving until the cool night air smacked me across the face and rushed into my burning lungs.

"Jackie?" the bouncer standing outside of the entrance called as I doubled over to collect myself.

"I'm fine," I panted.

"Yo, it's Franklin," the voice on the other end of the phone finally answered. I glanced back at the club's door one time, expecting Mr. T to burst outside and apologize and ask for me back. Or kill me.

"Franklin, it's Jacquelyn. I'm off early," I explained as calmly as I could.

"Need me to swing through?"

"I got it!" came Michael's voice in the background. The new pit in my chest flitted slightly.

"Alright, man. Mike's coming to get you. That cool wit'chu?"

"That's... That's perfect."

I hung up and leaned against one of the burgundy walls that made up the outside of the club. Even through layers of insulation, wood, and cement, I could feel the bass line thumping around inside the building like a false heartbeat. For a second, I swore I could hear Mr. T yelling demands at someone. I thought of Jessie and what I had seen earlier. This wasn't right. None of it was.

A few minutes later, Michael's dark Tailgater pulled into the lot and the driver's side window rolled down. I pushed away from the wall and slowly made my way over.

"You've been crying," he stated. I swiped at my face, not even taking notice.

"Well shit. I have," I sarcastically noted.

"Trevor?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?" he pried. I shook my head.

"I wanna smoke and forget everything for a little while."

He cracked a small smile before pressing a button that unlocked the rest of the doors and said,

"Get in."


	10. Chapter 10

The pull of gravity on my heavy head snapped me out of my sleep again as I fought the overwhelming desire to nap through Mrs. King's lecture on constants and variables. A quiet grunt escaped as I stretched in the plastic seat. Math wasn't boring; it was easy. School, however, was already reaching a new low on how much I wanted to be there.

"There's a test tomorrow. Do yourself a favor and work out a few equations from chapter two for practice," she explained. She waddled over to her desk and rang the bell sitting on the corner, as she always did, which freed us. I would probably never understand why she couldn't dismiss class like a normal professor. Everyone began to shuffle around for their things. I slipped my calculator and textbook under my arm and started out of the door with the rest of them. Idle, mindless chatter droned up and down the corridor. A tension headache was gathering right behind my left temple. Between last night's lack of sleep and countless stressors, I was wrecked.

Michael had taken me home, and afterward, I told him about everything. The Lost, my brother, the gun, what Trevor had done, what he wanted me to do for him, and how likely it was that he had killed Leon before claiming the club as his own. Mikey offered over drink after drink, but I just sat on my bedroom floor, hot tears running down my face as I sucked down cigarette after cigarette. He assured me he would try to talk some sense into his friend, but I'm sure if the mad man so little as breathed in my direction, I would fly off the hinges. The best thing I had going for me right now was the fact I was on my way to the administration building to pay my fines and get that damned boot off my baby. After this, my finances would need micromanaging all the way to hell until I found a new job. I had been through worse. I could make it, I kept telling myself.

The main office was buzzing with even more useless chatter when I finally arrived. Some kid wearing coveralls with no shirt underneath seemed to be getting chewed out by several men in starch-straight suits. A girl sat on the end of a bench with her legs draped across the lap of the boy sitting beside her. The receptionist had her cell phone, not the desk phone, propped against her ear with a shoulder as she filed her nails. Her eyes flitted my way, prompting me to speak.

"Where can citations be paid?" I asked. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone and leaned closer.

"You Townsend? The owner of the booted SUV in Lot A?" she questioned.

"Yeah?"

"Sign here," she prompted, whipping a clipboard my way. There was a piece of paper attached with a barely legible, but distinct signature. Payment due: $150. Late fee: $25x2. Total payment submitted by: T. Philips.

"Fella stopped by about an hour ago and asked a hundred questions before paying it off for you. Personally, I would consider dating someone with better hygiene and personal etiquette, sweetie, but if he suits you financially...don't let me get in between you," she finally stopped her yammering when I raised a sharp eyebrow. I hurriedly scribbled my name.

"Officer Henderson should have that boot off by now. If not, call this number," she slid a card across the desk top. "He'll swing by. You show him your receipt, bibbity-bobbity, you're cruising the streets again. Have a nice day."

"Yeah. You too," I muttered as I started for the revolving doors which led outside.

"Was that Townsend?" someone piped up. I turned slightly and found a woman peeking and waving at me from a propped open office door.

"Jacquelyn Townsend, right?" she called as I crossed the room.

"That's me," I let out with a small sigh. I was recognizable already, which I hated.

"Can we have a word?" she requested in a sweet tone.

"Sure," I cautiously agreed. She closed her office door behind me and gestured to one of the wooden chairs in front of her desk before claiming the computer chair behind it. She rifled through a few pieces of paper and shot me a grin beneath a pair of strained, but soft green eyes.

"I'm Mrs. Mallozi. I understand your registration process was carried out by one of our older staff members. She didn't set you up with any financial aid, but no worries. I am here to help you out," she chimed.

"Oh, no thanks. I'm alright in that department," I insisted. I quickly started to rise from the chair, but she waved a hand.

"It's mandatory here at ULSA. Whether you use your aid or not is up to you, but you at least have to fill out the forms. It's an equal opportunity mission statement for all the students. It takes no time, really," she pepped.

"Okay... What you need?"

"For a start, your employment history and current occupation will do."

I watched her peck away at her computer's keyboard.

"Well, I just lost my job. I'm currently unemployed," I uttered, stomach flitting slightly.

"See?" she glanced my way. "Financial aid can help relieve the burden you may be feeling you owe to pay for school. We give out loans, scholarships, waivers. Occasionally, there are even raffles in the auditorium. You know, the ol' draw your name out of a barrel and you win something deal?"

"I see."

She expectantly turned my way and asked,

"Where was your most recent job and what was your supervisor's name?"

"The Vanilla Unicorn," I let out in a deep breath. Mrs. Mallozi hesitated to type up the information. I plucked at my thumb nail and waited for the billion dollar question. No matter who I met, it always came. Curiosity killed the cat and I didn't think there was anything more curious than finding yourself face to face with a stripper in a stuffy office with no windows.

"You were an exotic dancer?" she coyly inquired. There it is.

"You can go ahead and call it what it is - a stripper. Yeah. I was," I replied with a few nods.

"I just... I don't want to..." she froze for a second before pepping up again. "Uh, your former supervisor's name?"

"Trevor Philips," I bitterly responded. Saying Leon's name would have felt better, but he was out of the picture and I didn't want anything else screwed up.

"Are you currently seeking a new place of employment?"

"Yeah, sorta. Still tryna to get a handle on a lot of things 'round here. It's been a while since I been in school and livin' in the city is an adventure everyday," I hastily explained. "Hey, how much longer is this gonna take? I've gotta make sure this boot gets taken off my truck and then just... Yeah. Just busy."

"For now, I have to send this information in to be processed, but after that you can expect a couple items in the mail and a few phones calls from the school administration about ways we can help you pay off whatever debts you may or may not accumulate. Is that okay with you, Miss Townsend?"

"Sounds good to me," I agreed, pushing to my feet.

"We also may be in contact with your previous supervisor. Do you have any other references you would be interested in leaving with us?"

The Yellow Jack Inn and Janet crossed my mind for a split second.

"No."

"Alright, we'll be seeing you," she finally chimed, rifling through paperwork again. I nodded and quietly made my way out of the room then outside of the school. I scratched at my scalp, deep in thought as the sun beamed down on my shoulders. It felt odd no longer claiming the Vanilla Unicorn as my place of work, but it was always my history. At least Mrs. Mallozi hadn't been overly curious and asked too many questions. Maybe I could find a job in retail. I could try my hand at being a makeshift bouncer for some bar again. And if I got desperate, maybe I would help Trevor- I laughed to myself and shook the thought out of my thick skull. The nerve of the bastard to pull such a sanctimonious act and pay my fines. I hope he didn't think I would pay it forward and help him. I laughed aloud again. If Trevor freakin' Philips even knew what "pay it forward" was...

After weaving in and out of cars full of students leaving campus, I approached my Cavalcade to find Officer Henderson already wrestling with the ugly yellow boot locked around one of the rims.

"Glad you sorted things out," he spoke from his place on the asphalt. I tossed my belongings into the backseat then rounded the vehicle to be sure he didn't fuck anything up.

"How's your nose?" I taunted.

"Good enough to not need a bandage anymore," he glanced over his shoulder at me. "You've got a mean right hook. You used to train with Spartans or something?"

"Nah. Had to teach myself growin' up," I stated.

"Oh, you were one of those girls," he clucked.

"Ain't you learned to be careful with your words 'round me yet?" I hissed. "What you tryna call me this time?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I've learned my lesson," he answered in a rush. "Just saying you grew up right tough, is all."

"I always had to be. I grew up beside a farm ran by a husband and wife with their four sons. Won't ever no room for sissies," I explained with a shrug.

"I hear you," he agreed. Finally, the boot fell off and clattered to the pavement.

"Yesssss," I cheered. The security officer gathered the contraption and tools in his arms.

"You have a good day," he said with a polite nod in my direction. I bounced into the driver's seat and immediately stuck a smoke between my lips.

"Really?" Officer Henderson incredulously declared.

"It ain't even lit yet!" I announced with a wink before starting the engine and pulling away. The rec center in Chamberlain Hills was calling my name and with my nights currently empty, I was in no rush to go back to my apartment. Michael had spent last night on the couch then departed at the same time as me this morning, muttering something about tying up loose ends at the Kortz Center. I didn't care, so long as he kept me out of it. I was far too mentally tired.

I drummed my thumbs against the steering wheel and watched with tired eyes as a red and white street car scraped by on its tracks. A trio of men decked head to toe in green clothing swaggered past on the sidewalk. No gang on this side of town could shake me like The Lost MC, but I sat up straighter in my seat and refocused my gaze on the street anyway. My cell phone vibrated in the cup holder. MR. T flashed across the screen and my lips tightened. I let the device vibrate until the screen went dark again. A moment later, the voicemail notification flashed. I locked my phone in the glove compartment after I pulled into a vacant spot in front of the B.J. Smith Recreation Center.

Men and women dotted the sidelines of the busy basketball courts. I could make out a few passing around what I assumed was a blunt full of marijuana amongst them. In broad daylight. This city was a fuckin' mess. I slung my duffel over my shoulder and made my way into the air conditioned building.

"Hey hey hey, Jacquelyn. Long time, no see," the older woman behind the receptionist's counter piped up as I approached. For a second time that day, a clipboard was pushed my way so I could sign.

"Thought we lost you forever to that fancy studio up in the hills," she picked.

"You almost did. It won't a bad place, but ain't nothin' quite like some FREE rec time."

"Well it's good to see you again. Everything is as it was," she remarked, tossing a key my way. I sent her a small smile and headed for the locker room. I quickly changed into a tank top and spandex capris then sauntered back out into the gym area. The basketball games outside could barely be heard through the closed windows lining the wide room. A few elder men were lifting small kettle bells in the corner. I perched myself onto a treadmill in front of a wide television mounted on a wall and started at a walking pace.

"If it ain't my girl Jackie. What's up?"

Franklin leaned against the free machine on my right just seconds later.

"Yo girl? Nigga, please. You couldn't snag a bitch this fine if she came up and sat right in your lap," yapped a taller, skinnier man loping up just behind him. He circled my machine and stood on my left only to continue running his mouth.

"Ain't you off the market anyway, what with that delicate snowflake constantly up in yo ear, hogging you away from me? A nigga need love too, Frank, and if you ain't gon' be there to support me... Well, maybe Miss Jackie can step up?" he proposed.

"That right?" I shot back with a slight laugh. "You always refer to a woman you're interested in as a 'bitch' or is that a one time thing?"

"My bad, shorty. It's a habit I'm tryna break. LD could use a lil schooling and you looking like you could teach me a lesson or two," he joked, eyes running me over from head to toe.

"LD?" I echoed with a frown.

"Yeah. That's me. Stands for Long-"

"Man, that shit stand for Lamar Davis!" Franklin interrupted with a goofy laugh. "My bad, Jackie. Ignore my dumb ass best friend over there. Fool was dropped on his head a couple times when he was a baby."

"Ah, don't hate me cause I'm beautiful," Lamar remarked, sucking his teeth and stomping his feet a little.

"You're cute, but you ain't cute enough to throw tantrums like a kid or somethin'. That don't work on ladies such as myself."

"Why you talking like ol' creepy dude?"

"Creepy dude?" I repeated.

"He's talking about T and maybe you should chill out with the name calling, LD before Jackie mollywhop yo' ass into next week."

"You rooting for her like she been witchu since the sandbox. Who yo' real friend here?"

"Have you told Tracey yet?" I interrupted before they could get going.

"Told Tracey what?" Franklin asked.

"That you've got you a husband clockin' your every decision," I joked and Lamar guffawed until he was doubled over at the knees.

"Haha. Real fucking funny. I need to talk to you about Tracey anyway," Franklin said with a suck of his teeth. He waved Lamar away and his friend shot us both middle fingers before turning on his slid-on sandals and shuffling across the room.

"I ain't know we were that close already," I noted with a smirk.

"I don't get along with just anybody. We're friends, trust me," his eyes widened slightly on the first part.

"Preachin' to the choir. What's up?"

"Well it isn't exactly about Tracey, but it's close enough. You and Michael-"

"Fuck. She told you?" I exclaimed.

"Well it was mighty fucking obvious when I picked him up from your crib that night. I can't say I don't blame him either-"

"Hey! Eyes up here," I snapped my fingers in front of his face. "So?"

"So, you don't think you need to apologize?"

"Apologize to Tracey for sleeping with her dad?" I proposed.

"Look, I know it don't make much sense, but appeasing her is a lot more about actions than it is words. She'll be less likely to be mad at you if you put in an effort to talk to her than whatever it is you two is doing now," he explained. I didn't say anything, eyes trained on the increasing digital numbers of the machine I was walking on.

"You was good for her. She kinda looked up to you. Not too many other girls hung out with her as much as you did," he continued. I frowned.

"We only hung out like two times, Franklin."

He sent me a knowing look and I sighed.

"Alright. I'll call her later. I ain't callin' twice if she don't pick up, so you should warn her or somethin'."

"No need to. Aye! Tracey!"

My head whipped in the direction he was waving and I caught Tracey exiting the locker room. At first, she looked giddy to see him, but her face fell once we locked eyes. She rolled her big, blue eyes and walked over anyway.

"Jackie wanted to talk to you about something, baby. I'll be on the court with Lamar if you need me," Franklin concluded before pressing a kiss to her temple and swiftly leaving the two of us alone. I scoffed and slightly shook my head. The nerve of him. Tracey tugged at her blonde pony tail and started up the treadmill beside mine.

"Hey," I tried.

"Did you know he was married?" she immediately remarked. She continued to click away at her phone screen wearing a slight pout.

"I did, but a lot of..." I exhaled hard through my nose. If this was going to make sense, all of it had to make sense.

"I'm not a bartender or whatever it was I said I did for a livin'. I'm not any of it," I said. She raised an eyebrow.

"You work with my dad?"

"What? Oh God, no. I...I worked at your uncle's club, the Vanilla Unicorn. I was a stripper there for a few years. It's where I met your dad," I explained. She tripped over her feet and caught herself on the metal rails.

"But did you know he was married?" she pressed on.

"I did, but there's this sorta code of conduct at the club with us girls. Most of our customers are almost always married or in relationships. It's just..." I let out a slight growl and rubbed the bridge of my nose between my pointer finger and thumb.

"I get it," she finally said. "It's about the money, right? I mean, he's got plenty of it and he must've offered, so why not?"

"Well if you wanna put it simple like that, yeah. I'm also ninety-nine percent sure I won't the only one of the girls he ever went home with."

"Big surprise there. Him and mom are fucking crazy, but that's their love, I guess. How much did he pay you?"

"Enough," I cut my eyes her way. "I'm not here to talk about that. I wanna apologize."

"For?" she egged.

"You ain't gonna make this easy for me, are you?" I groaned.

"Jackie, come on," she said. There was a slight shake in her voice that made me look her way. She quickly swiped at her face and revealed a slight tremble in her chin. Oh, hell.

"I'm sorry for sleeping with your dad," I hurriedly let out.

"It's not about you two sleeping together. It's just..." she sucked in a deep breath to compose herself. "Do you remember that song I performed on Fame Or Shame? He's never been there for me. Or Jimmy or mom. He's always been off stealing or shooting people or screwing hookers-"

"Hey. There's a line between a hooker and a stripper," I added with a nod.

"I know that. I just can't help but feel a little betrayed, you know?" her voice softened and she shrugged.

"If it makes you feel any better, he told me he does it all for his family. I mean, look at your house, Tracey-"

"And that makes it okay? Because I have everything I want?" she snapped.

"No!" I stopped her before she could get started. "No, no. Fuck, I was just tryin' to apologize and I'm sure Michael feels like shit about it too. It's not gonna happen again and I told him, and Frank, I was gon' make it right with you 'cause I like us bein' friends. I got enough knives in my back. I don't want you diggin' one in there too, okay?"

She looked down at my extended hand before shaking it and grinning.

"So when were you gonna tell me you were a stripper?" she pried.

"Like, never," I answered with a small laugh.

"Not fair. I told you my mom was one and that I once had a phone sex hotline. You owe me!" she ordered.

"I didn't feel comfortable discussin' your mom at all. I ain't got that right given what I've done. As far as your phone thing goes, I admire your entrepreneurship. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two over lunch or a movie one of these days," I pitched.

"Oh, for sure. Like I said, you owe me. You're not off the hook yet," she said, her bright blue eyes cutting my way. I laughed again as I began to feel the best I had felt in the past twenty-four hours.


	11. Chapter 11

I didn't expect to see Michael's wife standing on the front porch with her back to the yard, yelling at the top of her lungs when I pulled up behind his Tailgater the following day. She was shouting into the house, her hands in tight fists by her sides. Michael stood in the doorway, his lips tight in a frown as he scolded the woman in front of him. I wanted to reverse right back on out of there, but I was there for Tracey...who was supposed to be waiting outside for me. Ever since discovering her father at my house, she had grown less keen with the idea of she and I hanging out anywhere near him.

"At least I can say I never brought any of my suitors to my house or fucked them in my marital bed!" Michael barked. I laughed to myself. A second later, the young man I had seen Amanda doing yoga with in the backyard a few days ago brushed past in just his underwear.

"Get outta here! Yoga is fucking cancelled!" Michael bellowed. He reached inside the house and tossed a ball of clothing his way.

"Fabien! Fabien, dear, don't go! What about my chakras?" Amanda whined, scurrying after him all the way until he disappeared beyond the walls encasing the yard. She stomped back up the driveway and started for the front door.

"No more banging pricks in my house, got it?" Michael sternly demanded.

"YOUR house?" Amanda shot back, jabbing a finger into the chest of his maroon polo. "I manage this place on my own when you're off doing God knows what with God knows who! It's just as much mine as it is yours."

"Oh boohoo! You gotta pick out a mulch for the gardener and give the pool boy some sunblock. Have you fucked them yet too? My money paid for this sucker, did it not?" he hissed, side stepping his wife and blocking the doorway. "I said, no more banging pricks in my house. OKAY?"

"I hate you, Michael De fucking Santa!" she shrieked, shoving him as best he could. He put a shoulder up against the door frame, standing fast as she again tried to push past him. I slipped out of the driver's seat and quickly rounded the vehicles.

"No banging pricks in my house. Deal or no deal?" he suggested for a third time.

"Fine. I won't bring them to the house," she snottily resigned.

"What did you just say?" he harrumphed as she finally made her way past him and marched up the staircase.

"You heard me!" she cried back, flashing both her middle fingers down at him from the landing. A moment later, a door slammed overhead. I stood in the doorway of the mansion and knocked on the open door.

"You see the shit I gotta put up with?" Michael huffed, taking a seat at the bottom of the staircase.

"You're no saint yourself," I glanced upstairs. "Where's Tracey?"

"Living room," he rushed to his feet and quickly approached me, one hand running down the bare skin of my shoulder.

"How's about we get out of here real quick? Nobody'll notice-"

"Fuck off, Dad. I'll notice. Ew," Tracey called from the living room couch. I sent her dad a smirk and loped to where she was perched on the couch, tugging a white jacket over her tank top. On a massive projection screen, The Three Masturbating Monkeys were holding a jam session on Fame Or Shame.

"Way to beat a dead horse, huh?" I inquired.

"Tell me about it. They SUCK," she complained on her way out of the room.

"Where're you two going?" Michael asked.

"Please don't play concerned parental guardian now. I have had just about enough of listening to you and mom go at each other's throats day in and day out. I deserve this. I'm going with Jackie for the day. Don't look for me. Love you daddy."

Michael stood in the doorway and scratched his head as watched us climb into the SUV.

"You're not still with him, are you?" Tracey asked as I reversed down her driveway.

"I never was with him. Things just happened. Things I ain't quite comfortable talkin' to his daughter about," I explained with a shake of my head.

"I'm an adult. I know how it goes. He's just the world's biggest asshole, so I don't see how you could've been remotely attracted to him," she continued on. I shrugged a shoulder and cracked a small grin.

"Eh. He's kinda handsome and good with his hands-"

"TMI!" she declared as she put up both her hands. I laughed hard, doubling over the wheel as we weaved toward the plaza just several blocks south of her house.

"Money is an aphrodisiac. His looks were just a bonus," I stated.

"I wonder if my mom ever did it with any of her clients, like back in the day, you know?"

"Wouldn't doubt it. It's tricky business."

"What's this for?" she asked, snatching up the folded newspaper I had poking out of a cup holder. She flipped through a couple wrinkled pages before stopping on the Help Wanted section where I had circled a few job offers.

"Wait. You're getting a new job?" she asked, eyebrows skyrocketing.

"Unfortunately."

"Why?"

"I quit," I answered as I pulled us into the lot of the Wraps Fresh on Vespucci Boulevard.

"You're kidding. Why?"

"It's complicated," I said with a huff. I climbed out of the vehicle and slammed the door behind me. Tracey scurried along behind me into the store with the newspaper still in her hand.

"Well, do you know which of these you wanna do? Environmental maintenance staff for Radio Mirror Park? You're kidding, right?"

"I was leaning more toward that column about being a hotel maid at the Von Crastenburg. I already called and scheduled an interview. A job is a job," I remarked as I approached the counter. A chubby male with a wrinkled apron tied over a twice-as-wrinkled uniform green polo stepped up to take my order when his wide eyes bucked out of his head.

"Oh jeez. What are you doing here?" he declared, his eyes on Tracey. She rolled her eyes and cocked her head to the side.

"I forgot you worked today. You complain about your job so much, I must've imagined you got fired," she shot back.

"Did mom and dad send you to make sure I'm actually working so I don't wind up fired again?" he asked. I nodded once, realizing these two were the rambling siblings.

"No, Jimmy," Tracey answered. "And you deserved it last time. Skimping from the cash register is illegal."

Jimmy leaned over the counter and whispered,

"You're an accessory. I loaned you money over and over."

"You could've said no."

"I was being a good person," he reasoned.

"GOOD people don't steal," she shot back and he tossed a handful of napkins our way. The pungent odor of marijuana which wafted up whenever he moved told me exactly where most of his salary probably went. I couldn't blame him. It was safer than half the crap on the streets and the after effects weren't as dangerous.

Like father, like son, I thought to myself with a slight shake of my head.

"Enough," I interrupted the oncoming quarrel. We were the only customers in the store, but I hadn't signed up to babysit a today.

"Take our orders already, lard ass. Turkey and Swiss on wheat, please," she explained. Jimmy turned his nose up to his sister and locked eyes with me.

"What'll you have, Miss?"

"Being nice to Jackie won't get you a date with her. Trust me, you're definitely not her type," Tracey interjected. The two went at each other's throats once more until I stepped between them.

"Alright, alright. I'll take your chicken and bacon ranch melt and a Sprunk," I said and he immediately went to work. Tracey chose a table by the wide windows and we took our seats.

"You know, since you quit, you should visit your friends at the club one last time. Tonight. With...me?" she suggested. I shook my head, leaning back into the uncomfortable wooden chair.

"I told you, things got complicated-"

"But you promised we would go together some time. Remember? You told me not to go with Frankie?"

I frowned slightly.

"I don't remember any promise."

"Ugh, okay!" she said with a sigh. "If you won't do it for your coworkers, do it for me and they'll just be a bonus or something. You did say we would go and I'm practically dying of curiosity. Anything to keep me out of the house. Come on, Jackie. Please, please, PLEASE!"

"What are you begging for this time, ice princess?"

"Shut your fat, ugly mouth and mind your business," Tracey hissed as her brother came loping over to our table with our sandwiches in tow. He was wearing a kind smile, but the bickering the two of them had been pulling off since she and I arrived painted a pretty clear picture of what their relationship was like and I was not impressed. Sam and I had been angels...until we were forced out on our own when mom passed of a coronary. However, I did applaud Jimmy for making his own money instead of constantly borrowing from their father or a working significant other.

Jimmy pulled up an extra chair and plopped down in alongside the two of us.

"I'm trying to talk Jackie into taking me clubbing," she continued. She bat her eyelashes my way and I laughed a hard, stiff, singular laugh like one a disapproving mother sent when their child asked for something ridiculous.

"What club?" Jimmy pried.

"The Vanilla Unicorn."

"You're taking my sister to a titty bar?" he exclaimed.

"I ain't doin' no such thing. I told her no, but apparently that word lacks in her vocabulary," I hurriedly explained.

"We're the Townley, err- De Santa kids. We don't exactly know what 'no' means," Jimmy said and the brother-sister duo shared a clumsy high-five.

"I mean, she can totally pull it off. Jimmy, if you wanted to come, no matter how gross that would be, she could do it. She used to work there-"

Tracey's manicured hands immediately clapped down over her mouth. I let out a deep sigh and started unwrapping my sandwich.

"It slipped. I'm sorry," Tracey uttered.

"You were a stripper?" Jimmy asked in a voice much quieter than I had expected. He leaned in close over the table. The apron on his chest rolled up over his gut and his wide, blue eyes were shining with a newfound curiosity. Finally, I nodded and put up both my hands.

"For a couple years."

"No way," he guffawed. He leaned back in his chair and looked me head to toe. Like father, like freaking son, I thought again.

"Hey! The three of us can chill together! I won't be weird or ask you for a lap dance or anything like that. I swear."

"Jimmy!" Tracey groaned. He simply laughed.

"Alright! We'll go tonight, but only 'cause I've gotta pick up a few things of mine that I left behind. We'll be in there an hour, at most. Got it?"

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Evening Jackie. Long time, no see. What's it been? A week?" the doorman greeted as Tracey, Jimmy, and I approached the entrance to the club.

"C'mon. They're with me. We won't be long," I insisted as he held out a hand for the identification cards.

"I'll pretend to look away as y'all sneak inside or whatever," he airily said, turning his back to us.

"Fuck yes," Jimmy cheered as I pushed our way inside. I turned to greet Jessie, but an unfamiliar woman sat in her place. Tracey was practically dancing in her flats. Jimmy was bobbing his head to the beat of the music.

"You can order a drink there," I pointed to the bar. "Ten bucks a pop. There's a food menu over there, but I wouldn't eat jack shit from here."

As I turned away from the bar, I was bum-rushed and met with a face full of hair. Two pairs of arms snaked around me and slight squealing followed.

"Oh my gosh! We miss you!" Nikki exclaimed.

"Why did you leave here?" Fufu questioned. Jimmy was nearly breathing down her neck so I took her by the elbow and took a few steps away from the siblings.

"Just some personal issues. Is Mr. T in?" I asked, hoping to avoid him.

"I'm not sure. No one has seen him a day or so," she explained. I turned to the siblings.

"Stay here. Err, do whatever. Just don't leave."

"Okay!" they let out in unison, Tracey heading for the bar and Jimmy for the stage. I started for the curtains, but the husky guard's arm shot out in front of me.

"I can't let you back there."

"What? You know me!" I declared over the music.

"I know I do, but Mr. T had very specific instructions regarding you, Jackie," he claimed. I placed my hands on my hips.

"And your instructions were?"

"He doesn't want anyone back there 'less they're working. Especially you."

"Look, I ain't dangerous," I let out and it whistled through my teeth like a lie. "All I need is five minutes. I left a couple clothes behind. Some make-up too. I'll be outta ya hair and no one will even know I was here," I bargained. The guard scratched at his goatee and shuffled his feet before stepping out of my way. I hurried back and immediately threw open someone's locker, snatching up an empty backpack and grabbing items that looked familiar to me. Shirts, pants, bras, bangles and other accessories. I eyed the office door, waiting for it to swing open at any moment. When it didn't I tiptoed over and leaned in close in an attempt to catch a movement over the club's noise. I could barely make out someone's mumbling. I pressed my ear to the wood and the door creaked open, sending me stumbling into the humid room. I spotted him sprawled across the ratty couch with what remained of a pillow pressed over his face.

"Go away," his muffled voice groaned.

"What? Not excited to see me?" I sarcastically hissed. He tossed the pillow across the room and sat up all in one swift movement. His dark eyes bore into me and I saw his jaw clench. My own clenched when I eyed several bruises and old, bloodied wounds on his arms and chest. I could faintly make out the smell of gunpowder.

"Shut the door," he demanded. I did.

"Been causin' more chaos in the county?"

"Not even close, slick. I ask the questions around here. Why haven't you been answering my calls? My texts? How do you know I didn't need your help?"

"Yeah, right," I lifted an eyebrow at him. "You're Trevor Philips. I was just pickin' up the rest of my belongings then I'll be outta here for good when I thought I'd say hello and goodbye."

His eyes darted down to the bag dangling from my shoulder before he hopped from the sofa and jerked open the refrigerator in the corner.

"Beer?" he offered. I responded with a slight roll of my eyes and started for the door.

"Let's talk, Jackie. We're pals. We can be civil. I didn't mean for it to go down like it did. Last time we talked was a mess," he insisted. His words were rushed and his tongue seemed to trip over itself. He was fried.

"You? Civil?" I scoffed. He chugged down the beer then withdrew another and flung himself down in the desk chair I pointed at the His eyes were as wild as they had been the last time I saw him, but he also looked tired, like he had done quite a bit of fighting.

"I know it might seem like I'm tough on you or I get off on givin' you Hell, but it's for a good reason. You're different - WE'RE different. I know the sayin' is 'If you can make it in Liberty City, you can make it anywhere', but that's horse shit. If you can make it in fuckin' Blaine County, you can make it anywhere," he slurred. He hiccuped then wiped his running nose. I fidgeted uncomfortably, unsure of where to look. For once, he was too high to maintain his always too-intense eye contact. I focused on the lighter and dirty drug pipe perched right on the open on the top of his desk. Whatever demons he was fighting, they were giving him Hell. I shouldn't have let my curiosity get the best of me.

"I know somewhere in that pretty little head of yours, you're probably thinking 'I fucking hate this guy. He's fucking sick'. You ain't wrong. Everyone thinks it. I know. I just see a lot in you. You can do better than this fucking club," he raised a finger. "I don't want you second guessin' yourself like I second guess myself. What I did was wrong. I thought I could be like Michael. He took Franklin under his wing and taught him shit. I thought I could scare you into doing the same."

The chair squeaked as he leaned back in it and closed his puffy eyes. His head rolled back and his shoulders slumped. The half-empty beer bottle in his hand hit the floor and rolled across the stained carpet.

"Mr. T?" I called. He didn't move. A small panic fluttered in my chest. Had this miserable bastard overdosed on his own supply?

"Trevor?" I tried in a slightly louder tone. I shook his shoulder and his mouth popped open, a loud snore of his cracking through the room. A bit of saliva quivered at the corners of his mouth. I let out a sigh and shook my head. Of course. He probably wouldn't even remember our conversation or my visit by the time tomorrow got here. I ran a hand through my long hair and quickly left the office. There was more commotion than usual coming from the other side of the club and I was suddenly reminded I had come here with guests.

"Shit," I muttered, watching from behind the curtain as Tracey danced on the bar. A handful of men were waving money in her direction. Bouncers were gripping them by the collars and yanking them toward the exit. Just as one of the bouncers grabbed Tracey's ankles, I shouldered my way up front and wedged myself between her and the crowd.

"Am I doing it right, Jackie?" she called down at me. I should've known better.

"Where's your brother?" I shouted up at her.

"He went outside!"

"I fuckin' swear..." I muttered. I readjusted my backpack then gripped her around the knees and slung her over my shoulder.

"Shows over, gents! Give your money to the lovely ladies who actually work here," I declared on my way out of the door. I didn't have to look far for Jimmy. He was hunched over by the passenger side of my Cavalcade, his hands on his knees as he heaved his guts out. I shook my head and put Tracey down.

"You ordered somethin' off the menu, didn't you?" I knowingly asked. He began to empty the contents of his stomach again and groaned.

"Don't say I ain't warn you," I said with a know-it-all chuckles after I buckled Tracey into the passenger seat. After a moment, Jimmy climbed into the back and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"I think I'm good. Where're we going next?" he asked.

"Bullshit. I'm takin' you two home. I couldn't leave you alone for five minutes before you got yourselves into somethin'."

When he started to protest, I put a quizzical finger to my ear and turned up the volume of the talk show radio station. He was sick, his sister was done for and I was exhausted.

"We're here," I announced when I approached the gated house a couple minutes later. The only car parked outside was Amanda's. Jimmy held his stomach as he shuffled toward the front door. I pulled Tracey out of the passenger seat and slung her left arm over my shoulders. Crickets sang out around us as the three of us struggled up the hill.

"Either you can't handle your alcohol or you ordered a ridiculous amount of shots in a short time," I complained.

"Both," she hiccuped. She reached out a hand and stroked the side of my face as we stepped up to the front door. Jimmy fumbled with a ring of keys until the front door was snatched open and Amanda peered down at us in her robe.

"There you two are," she said, sounding relieved. "What's wrong with you?"

"I ate something bad and Tracey drank too much," Jimmy explained as he brushed past his mom and wobbled to the kitchen. Amanda looked to me with heavy eyes as she took her daughter under her arm.

"Have you by chance seen my husband? I haven't seen him since, you know, the argument. Sorry you had to see that. He can be a real ass sometimes," she said.

"No. Can't say I have."

Her brow furrowed the worry lines in her forehead.

"Well... I guess thanks for getting these two back to me in one piece," she gave Tracey's shoulders a good squeeze. "You're a good family friend, Jackie. Not much like anyone else we know."

My lips curled up as I resisted the urge to chuckle at how wrong her impression of me had been this far. I was just as fucked as Los Santos was and most of its inhabitants. Maybe I just hid it better.


	12. Chapter 12

When I woke up the next morning with my face in a thick pillow, I could hear Michael snoring from the other side of the bed. Propping myself on my elbows, I slowly sat up and cast his sleeping frame a tired glare. He laid flat on his back, just one leg tucked beneath my comforter and both his arms up by his head as though he were wildly surrendering. After a moment of peace, I simply shook my head and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

I didn't remember answering any calls or opening the door for him. I picked up my phone from the bedside table and scrolled through my recent activities. I hadn't sent any half-asleep text messages either. I stood and stretched then shuffled from the room. MoJo was curled into a ball on top of the jacket of Michael's suit, which was laying in the middle of the floor in the hallway. I stepped over his furry body and tripped over one of Michael's shoes. Alright. He had either been a drunken mess when he'd gotten here or I had excitedly stripped him myself. Neither were appealing options, but the lack of heat in my thighs hinted it had probably been the first option. Regardless, after dealing with his two kids yesterday, I was overdue for some alone time. I had to get my head right for a new job interview set up for later tomorrow.

I popped open my refrigerator and twisted the top off of a store-bought iced coffee. As if on cue, Michael trudged in and threw himself down in one of the two chairs at the round table.

"Why is it so bright in here?" he complained. I shot the clock hanging on the wall a glance.

"'cause it's almost noon. What're you doin' here?" I asked.

"Things got pretty heated between Mandy and I yesterday. After that, things got worse between me, Trevor, Merryweather and some agency pricks. I needed to cool down," he explained. He pushed away from the table and started pressing buttons on my coffee pot on the counter.

"What's your deal with Merryweather?" I pried. Michael Townley had some pretty legendary notches in his belt, but I had heard about that private army and concluded it was nothing even he should want to fool around with.

"Just some bullshit schemes Trevor roped me in to. It's handled now," he claimed.

"It's handled? The hell's that mean? Should I be worried 'bout 'em kickin' in my door, lookin' for you?"

"Nah. Not yet. My trail's gone cold and a friend of mine has got my back. He works with the FIB. You got nothing to worry about," he claimed.

"Do you even consider checkin' into a hotel or stayin' with Franklin before you invite yourself to my place? You ever think it ain't fair to me?" I questioned. He peered my way over his shoulder then turned back to the brewing coffee pot, shoulders drawn.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he muttered.

"I mean, you're married and you've got kids and you keep wrappin' me into that shit like I'm supposed to be okay with it. Tracey knows, but your wife doesn't. You know what she said to me when we bumped into each other last night? She said I was a good family friend, much different from anyone else she knows."

He laughed heartily, his head tilting up to the ceiling and his shoulders bouncing.

"Huh. Bet she wouldn't think so highly of you if she knew the truth."

"Fuck you. You started this."

"Yeah? And like I told you before, you didn't have to pick up the phone to call me, but you did and I came running. You don't have shit to your name in this city, but I always gave you the time of day. I gave you money when you needed it-"

"You were payin' me for fuckin' you is all you were doin', Michael. You did it for women before me and you'll do it for women after me. I'm not one for the Vinewood glamour so you can try that guilt trip on someone else," I immediately shut him down before he could even start. He appeared winded. Between the confession Trevor had let slip last night and this, I was too emotionally drained for anything else.

"If there ain't anything else I can help you with, there's the door, Mr. De Santa," I let out, gesturing toward my front door. As if on some damned cue, a pink slip of paper was pushed between the bottom of my front door and the linoleum.

"Oh great," I groaned, crossing the room and snatching it up. I swallowed hard and crumpled the paper in my fist.

"What is it?" Michael asked.

"A warnin'. I might be gettin' evicted," I explained with a sigh, tossing the paper against the wall and taking a seat on one of the stools at the counter. I tugged my fingers through my thick hair then held my face in my hands. After a few quiet moments, Michael occupied the stool to my right.

"Did I have something to do with it? Do I gotta have a few words with your landlord?"

"No," I gently shook my head and placed a hand on his shoulder as he began to swell with a desire for a fight. "Sorta... I've been pushin' my luck lately with lettin' you stay then leave in the mornin' like you do. I ain't been followin' the rules and I've been a little short on rent the past couple of months 'cause school and other things."

"Why didn't you tell me? How much do you owe?"

"You're foolin'," I remarked with a laugh. "After what you just said to me? I don't want your help."

"C'mon. I mean, fuck. You unexpectedly snatched away my favorite toy," he patted me on the ass and I jumped.

"Then you start sleeping with the door unlocked, practically waiting for me, but you won't let me play. I was angry, but I don't wanna see you tossed out on your ass," he continued, leaning in close enough for me to smell the old alcohol on his breath. For only a second, I enjoyed the warmth of him being so close before my eyes snapped to meet his and I smirked.

"Who do you think you're sweet-talkin'?" I asked, pulling away and rounding the counter to start on breakfast. He let out a deep sigh.

"You're doin' fuck knows. I'm in school and in-between jobs. We ain't got the room for this foolishness in our lives," I explained into the refrigerator. My cell phone began to ring from my bedroom.

"Hear me out, baby. We can tone it down. It can be a once a week thing. I don't want you getting put out because of me," he continued pushing the issue whilst following me back to my room.

"Screw my landlord. I'm more worried about your family and you should be too. Hello?" I spoke into the receiver of my phone.

"What are you doing?" immediately came Tracey's voice. She sounded worried. I put the phone on speaker so her father could hear.

"Just puttin' together some breakfast. What's wrong, Tracey?" I dragged on her name and cut my eyes at Michael. He ran a hand through his short hair and shook his head.

"I'm a little hungover and I'm panicking. The job interview is stressing me out. I need to shop. I've got mom's card. Come with?" she suggested. Michael's head cocked to the side and he opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it.

"Alright. Well, uh, give me about an hour or so before you head over," I claimed.

"You're a life saver," she said before hanging up.

"What job interview? She's actually looking for work?" Michael blurted.

"As a matter of fact, she is. The Von Crastenburg in Richman is lookin' for housekeepin'. I called and set up an interview for tomorrow. I managed to make her cave in and call too," I explained, a smug smile filling my face.

"Well aren't you becoming two peas in a pod? I suppose the next step she'll be moving in here with you and running a muck across the city?"

"Is that what you think of me?" I asked, an eyebrow raising and fists tightening by my sides. "That I run a muck across Los Santos? After all the stuff I told you I got away from, that's what you think?"

"If Trevor is any indication of what county folks are like, then yeah, it is. I don't know how I feel about my daughter hanging around folks like you."

"Trevor is an indication of whatever the fuck Trevor is like and don't you ever fuckin' dare try to compare us! Whatever shit the two of you are in now, I ain't ever been apart of. I walked away from Trevor 'cause of his foolishness. Don't make me have to walk away from you just 'cause I won't fuck you anymore. You need to pump your damn brakes, Mr. De Santa. Okay? 'cause you're the one runnin' around like a chicken with its gotdamn head cut off, shootin' shit up with the government. You've seen what I do. I go to work, I go to school, I'm with Tracey, I come back here. I'm helpin' your daughter. I wouldn't ever endanger her. You and Franklin, hell, even Trevor, would go ape shit if anything happened to her. We study together. She might even have a job 'cause of me. You best watch how you speak to me 'cause I ain't your gotdamn wife," I snapped. The heat building inside my chest was damn near suffocating me and I had to leave the room in order to breathe steadily again. I pulled a carton of cigarettes from a coat I had hanging by the door, stuffed one between my lips, and lit it. I had already taken several drags by the time Michael stepped into the living room, his head hanging as though he were a child who had just gotten scolded.

"I'm sorry, Jackie. I didn't mean to...offend you. There's a lot of shit going on and I worry the wrong people will wind up wrapped in it. It never fails," he explained in a quiet tone.

"You mind your business and I'll mind my own," I said, my voice quivering slightly. "Tracey will be here in a few. You need to be gone before then."

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"Why don't we go to the gym tomorrow?" Tracey suggested while we whizzed through the city in her newly re-upholstered convertible. I flicked what was left of a cigarette butt out of the window and into traffic before agreeing with a single, quiet word.

"Sure."

"It'll be good to blow off some steam after our interviews," she continued.

"Sounds good to me," I said.

"We could go to the spa after the gym and get those mani-pedis too. Treat ourselves right for a job well done."

"That works."

We eased to a smooth stop at a red light just down the street from where I lived.

"Are you alright? You've been quiet all day and you barely bought anything. What's up?" Tracey piped up.

"You know that heavy feelin' in your heart when somethin' just feels off? I got that," I claimed. A ball of dread had made itself at home in my chest almost a half hour ago and wouldn't budge, but besides my argument with Michael this morning, I couldn't think of anything that could be wrong. Even the past few hours with Tracey had been somewhat decent. I didn't quite yet have the luxury to spend money willy-nilly like her and she had even volunteered to pay for me, but I declined. Out of the various stores we visited, I only walked out of Didier Sachs with a new blouse and black slacks I would wear to make a good impression tomorrow.

Tracey pulled up alongside the curb in front of my apartment and snapped the car into park.

"What feels off? Did I say something?" she asked.

"Nah, I'm sure it's nothin' big and I'm just overthinkin'."

"Well just, you know, text or call me if you need to. I'll listen," she suggested. I beamed in her direction. She was really starting to lose the self-centered focus she'd had since I first met her. If anyone would've told me a few months ago that I'd consider myself to be friends with her, I would've laughed.

"Thanks, Tracey. That really means a lot to me. I'll pick you up tomorrow before our-"

The crack of a motorcycle's engine kicked my stomach into my throat. My head snapped over my right shoulder and I caught sight of a glistening, solo headlight coming up the road against the wrong side of traffic. A couple cars jerked out of its way, horns honking as passengers leaned out of the windows with middle fingers extended outward. The engine cracked again. I felt the color flush out of my face.

"Tracey, I gotta go. Go home and text me when you get there, alright?"

"What's going on? Do you know that lunatic? Why is he driving-"

I sucked in a hard gasp as a black van came barreling into us head on. The bull-bars on the front crunched the front end of the convertible beneath it. The air bags went off and my head went sailing backward into the cushion. I didn't know if my ears were ringing or Tracey was screaming or both. Tracey's car was wrecked. Again. We wouldn't make our interviews. We'd be in the hospital. Whatever idiot had crashed into us...

I coughed and started pushing against the airbag to deflate it. Tracey was a mix between crying and screaming, her cheeks bright red. There was a thin line of blood running from one of her nostrils. Her pale face was bright against the high beams shining in on us. I reached over to her with a shaky hand and grabbed her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" I managed to get out. Blood filled my mouth when I moved my tongue. Who was I kidding? I knew what idiot had crashed into us. That motorcycle had been the signal. The motorcycle's engine purred as the driver pulled up alongside where we were sitting, crooked on the sidewalk now. I could hear the murmur of pedestrians and several cameras clicking. Metal grated against metal as the van reversed away from us then the doors popped open.

"Get the fuck outta here!" someone yelled and I heard the crowd panic then the scuffling of feet. An arm reached through my shattered window and someone cut the straps of my seat belt with a knife.

"Jackie?" Tracey incoherently mumbled. I was grabbed beneath the shoulders and pulled through the window.

"What about the girl?" the person pulling me asked.

"Fuck her. We want this one," someone answered. After I was free of the car, I was dropped on the pavement and kicked a couple times. I curled into a ball, groaning and tensing against the blows. I was bleeding somewhere on my leg, my pants warm with blood.

"Jackie!" Tracey screamed. Her voice seemed to echo and bounce around my throbbing head.

"D-Don't touch her..." I muttered into my forearms.

"That's enough!" came a new voice and my beatings stopped. The stars in my eyes wouldn't fade no matter how hard I clenched them shut then opened them over and over. I could feel every limb of mine aching and fighting the urge to swell or bruise. I so badly wanted to leap to my feet and give these pricks the fight they wanted and the fight they deserved, but I couldn't. This was it. They had found me.

"Get her in the van. We gotta hit the road," the new voice demanded. Sirens finally began to wail from some distant hospital or police station. If I could stall in time for the police or paramedics...

"She's a wily one. Be careful," another warned. I squirmed as someone picked me up beneath the arms and another grabbed my ankles. I kicked at whoever was holding my feet and they dropped me.

"Fuck this," the person under my arms hissed before dropping me on the asphalt. A couple leather jacket clad men hurried past before I saw a hand slip a pair of brass knuckles past bony fingers.

"Fuck-" I groaned then everything was cold and dark.


	13. Chapter 13

"She still breathing?"

"Of course she's still breathing. The fuck you take me for? I didn't hit her that hard."

"Both of you shut up. We're nearly there."

We were in a vehicle, bouncing slightly. That meant we weren't on a paved road - more than likely one out in Blaine County. I wasn't sure how long I had been unconscious or how long they had been driving, but even through the linen cloth of the bag over my head, I could smell the crisp air of the cool desert surrounding us. Rocks popped as they buckled and shot out from beneath the tires.

Someone had a grip on one of my elbows and my wrists were bound together behind my back with what felt like a thick, scratchy rope. If they had really wanted me dead, they would have killed me in the car in the city rather than bring me back here. They had spared Tracey, thank God. I couldn't imagine the chain of events that would unfold if anything happened to her. I had never been religious, but I squeezed my eyes closed and hurried out a small thank you prayer.

"Close your yap," the person beside me warned.

"Where are we goin'?" I asked. My question was answered with a swift open palm to the back of my head that almost toppled me over. Our destination could only be one of two places - what was left of Stab City or their small farm on the edge of Grapeseed. How had they found me? What did they want? Would they make me re-join? Would they torture and slowly kill me? Both possibilities made me feel like puking.

The van snapped to a hard stop and the engine puttered off. I heard the low groan of a cow in the distance. The doors opened and I felt cool air on my arms. The smell of old wood and rusted metal lingered in the air. Somewhere, a tractor choked to life. The Rebel Radio track playing in the distance sounded eerie echoing over the rolling hills. I could barely make out the sound of the Alamo Sea slapping against its sandy shore. Grapeseed.

The hand on my elbow pulled me from the van and I fell to the dirt.

"For fuck sake, man! Pick her up and get her in the barn before someone sees. King's on the way," someone explained. One pair of hands grabbed my ankles and another grabbed me beneath the shoulders. It wasn't long before I was dropped down into a chair. Two sets of hands pulled at my wrists and ankles. A roll of duct tape scratched and squeaked and I relaxed in the chair with a sigh. I wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

The linen bag was finally yanked off my head. I squinted against the single light bulb over my head as I tried focusing on the dozen or so bikers standing around. A few appeared empty-handed, but I knew even they probably had a knife tucked in their boots. Some wielded pipes and others handguns or shotguns with scowls on their faces. One man stepped forward and approached me. His hair was buzzed low enough to show off the various tattoos adorning his round head. The bright red beard around his mouth nearly hid his lips from view, but he spoke clearly.

"Listen here, lady. I'll keep it short and sweet. If what I've heard about you is true, you probably aren't even scared, but you need to be. They call me King and you're gonna do me a favor," he explained.

"I ain't," I shot back.

"You think so, but you're already doing exactly what I need you to do," King said with a deep chuckle that rattled me just slightly. "You see, we came to this dump all the way from Liberty City because we heard some creep done butt in on our turf. Losing Johnny K..."

He paused slightly and his chapped lips tightened.

"Losing Johnny K and his men meant losing a big part of our operation, but we decided 'what the hell?'. Why not salvage what remains and get back at the idiot who killed our brethren?"

"You'll be lucky if that so-called idiot even takes your bait. I dunno where you got your intel, but he's got no reason to give a shit about me. I ain't a friend of his," I explained.

"You used to work for him. That club in the city he took over, you used to shake your ass for him, didn't you?"

My upper lip stiffened. I thought I had made a clean escape, but I should have known better. Most folk out here had nothing to do, except yap. But who? I had fled in the night. I had caught a bus with nothing but a duffel full of clothes and fifty dollars in my pocket.

"Ow! You're hurting my arm!" a familiar, lisped voice came. A woman broke through the group of men and shoved Wade into the dirt at my feet. His hands were tied behind his back and he groaned through bloody, swollen lips as he rolled against the cool ground.

"I...I'm sorry, Jackie. They found m-me and they made me-"

"It's okay," I quietly reassured Wade. The cuts and bruises on his face told me how they had made him talk. As far as I knew, Trevor didn't give much shit about me, but Wade...

"What is it you said they used to call her?" the woman asked him.

"Straitjacket J-Jackie," he answered.

I closed my eyes and felt hot tears run down my cheeks. The story got old. I had tried reinventing myself, but was now getting pulled back under. I would fling myself into the Alamo Sea to drown before I came back to this. The woman approached and grabbed my trembling chin in one of her hands.

"Hard to tell it," she remarked.

"Go 'head and untie me. I'll show you somethin'," I suggested with a sniff. My glare at the gaunt woman ended with one of her bony fists connecting with my face.

"Enough, Patty. Go get some air," King ordered. She cast me a cold glance before stalking away. King snapped his fingers and two men hoisted Wade to sit up alongside my chair.

"Jackie Townsend," King muttered. My right eye was beginning to swell, but I stared right up at him as best I could. He started walking slow circles around my seat. I looked over his friends. They all donned some form of gasoline-smeared jeans, ripped t-shirts, and old leather. They were bigger than Johnny K's chapter. Sturdier. Crystal meth hadn't ravaged through them, at least not yet. It would happen, sooner or later. It got to everyone who wasn't strong enough. Samuel crossed my mind and I began to wonder if I would be killed any day now or if this new group would let me die like him - high and bleeding out on the ground. Only this time no one would bury me like I had done him.

"You hear me?" King whistled and plucked my forehead with one of his calloused fingers. "I asked you a question."

"What?"

"How do things work out here?"

I laughed and shook my head back and forth.

"You shoulda done your research," I replied. A sharp blow was delivered to my ribs, knocking the wind from my lungs. I doubled over and grit my teeth as my eyes watered. A yelp escaped my throat when King's fist wrapped around my hair and he made me look him in the face as he towered over my seat.

"You better answer me before this gets a hell of a lot worse," he threatened through his pearly whites.

"Unless you're part of TPI, there ain't no working out here," Wade spoke up in an exasperated tone.

"What's he babbling about?" King pressured.

"I don't know how I can paint the picture any clearer for you. Trevor Philips," I shakily claimed. "This entire county is his. Everything that once was is now his. The Lost. The Aztecas-"

"The O'Neils. The Chinese. He's in charge. I... I help sometimes. Me and Ron, we'll just-"

"Wade," I warned, stopping him from volunteering any extra information. King shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You expect me to believe one intrusive little fuck took down everything and made it his own?"

"You shouldn't call Trevor names," Wade interjected. King yanked him up by the collar of his hoodie and started to drag him out of the barn.

"H-Hey! Where are you takin' him?" I started to panic. Wade had been through enough already. He wouldn't understand. He would talk too much.

"We've got a couple phone calls to make. Let's see how bold this Trevor cat really is," King called over his shoulder. The group of men began to file out behind him. Once the room was empty, the one chick returned.

"Where they goin' with Wade?" I questioned.

"Mind your business."

She disappeared behind a wall of rusting barrels.

"Patty, right? That your name?" I tried. I strained against the chair trying to get a good look at my surroundings. My injuries flared as I leaned hard into the duct tape looped around my abdomen and hips.

"You're supposed to be quiet before I come knock your teeth down your throat," she shot back.

"They ain't here to stop you this time. Gimme your best shot," I egged on for a response. Silence lingered for a few seconds before giving way to the sound of wood creaking and a small sigh of aggravation. She appeared from the other side of the dim barn and stood just on the edge of the ring of light around me. She looked overrun. She trembled a little and there was a nick cut into her upper lip. She was right where I had been years ago.

"What?" she huffed.

"I need a favor," I proposed.

"Fuck off."

"Need a smoke?"

She shifted her feet and narrowed her glassy green eyes at me.

"Pack of Redwoods in my back left pocket. Pretty sure I got enough for two," I stated. Patty hesitated.

"No funny business. We clear?"

I shrugged as best I could.

"If they call who they promise they will, I ain't your concern. What the county nuts tell you? That I stabbed a man? That I fought a lot?"

"They said you're somebody who should be in a straitjacket. That you betrayed The Lost and ran away with their dough."

I scoffed.

"I wish that last part was true. Johnny killed my brother. I won't about to stick around people like that-"

"We're supposed to be family, chick. That's it," she snapped.

"Are you sayin' that in response to my brother bein' murdered or to me ditchin' my crew?"

The answer made itself out from her silence.

"Look, I get it. I lost everything, but The Lost was there. They became everything. I'd ask if you wanna hear a story, but I'm sure you're livin' the same horrors I lived. Sleepless nights movin' whatever they give you. Bein' held accountable for someone else's fuck ups. Gettin' smacked 'round all hours of the day and lettin' 'em treat you any way just 'cause they feel like it. It ain't no way to live," I explained.

"It doesn't matter what happened to you or what happens to me. Another chapter will come together and migrate to San Andreas to keep the operation alive. There's a good thing here. We've just got to find it and it'll take more then a washed up dealer to turn us over," she confidently insisted.

"I thought the same thing when I was in your shoes, but in all honestly, fuck The Lost MC. You think what they're doin' to me and Wade means anything to 'em? We're the gotdamn bait," I hissed through clenched teeth. "And if the fish they're lookin' for comes nibblin', you're all fucked."

My last words must have struck a nerve, because she marched over and snatched the pack of Redwoods from out of my pocket then stuck one between her thin lips. She hesitated then stuck another in my mouth and lit them both.

"What was he like?" she asked after a moment. I sucked on the stick between my lips and exhaled smoke through my nose, using just the tips of my teeth to keep it from falling into my lap. My nerves began to calm and I let out a quiet,

"Who?"

"Johnny Klebitz."

"He was an asshole."

"I hear great things about him."

"Most of its lies. He's a murderer."

"And you're not?"

An eyebrow of mine lifted and I cut my dark eyes up at her.

"I ain't ever killed anyone, no."

"So all this talk of you being crazy is just talk?" she asked. I scoffed, causing a few ashes to break off and float down onto my jeans.

"You ain't gotta kill people to be crazy. It's all about how you go 'bout yourself."

"You're stuck to a chair right now with the outcome of your life hanging in the balance. I think you may be a little over-hyped," she let out in an airy tone.

"You're a whole lotta talk for someone not even from 'round here. For all you know, I got friends in high places, watchin' out for me right now," I taunted. I caught her anxiously shift her weight onto the balls of her feet. She hurriedly finished off her cigarette then snubbed it out beneath her black stiletto boots.

"That guy? Trevor? What's he do?" she pried, quickly filling the uneasy silence.

"They leave you behind to question me or just to keep you busy while they do the real work?" I shot back.

"Both," she answered through her teeth, obviously agitated. "Trevor Philips. What does he do?"

"Everything," I replied with a wry smile. She whipped a switchblade out of the pocket of her denim shorts and stuck the point right into my throat.

"I'm getting sick of your smart ass attitude. Give me a reason," she angrily threatened. I didn't flinch. Instead, I bore my eyes right into hers and lifted my chin to blow smoke in her face. The blade scraped against my skin and I immediately felt a red welt make itself at home along my neck. Her hand shook before she flicked away the blade and tucked it away. She shook her head a few times before storming from the barn, slamming and locking a door after her.

I finally relaxed into the stiff chair and spat away the butt of my cigarette. Patty was beginning to worry. She had tried to get a rise out of me with her shitty switchblade routine and when I didn't give, she must have taken my word about what I had been saying. They thought I was bluffing. There was no urgency to prepare. There was no familiar panic which usually accompanied the name Trevor Philips. They had no idea what type of storm was about to blow in. That is, if he showed...


	14. Chapter 14

_**Quick question, please post your answers in the review section or send me a message! For those of you who have played through the story, which ending did you choose: A, B, or C? Reason(s) why?**_  
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Some time after Patty had left me alone with my thoughts, the barn door slammed shut and I was jolted awake by the scuffling and whimpering that followed the noise. A Lost MC member dragged Wade into the room and tossed him at my feet. The biker staggered slightly and threw an empty beer bottle at both of us. Wade whimpered again and turned his face away from the incoming shards of glass. The man laughed before loping over and standing in front of me. I turned my bleary, bruised face up at him and my slightly swollen and chapped lips forced down into a scowl.

"Well ain't you something? Sleeping? During an abduction? Not even worried 'bout nothing, huh?" he asked.

"Y'all are either gonna kill me, Trevor's gonna kill y'all, or in some freak twist of nature, y'all will kill Trevor. Ain't nothin' but a waitin' game now," I explained. Wade fidgeted by my side and let out a slight gasp.

"I dunno about you, but any of those endings are fine by me," the man chimed. He turned on his heel and marched from the barn. I waited until I heard the heavy locks turn once more before I angrily writhed in the chair. My eyes burned with tears of rage and anxiety. I tried straining and pulling with my wrists and legs, but they were bound to the arms and legs of the old, wooden chair. I turned my neck enough to see that the chair itself had been fastened down straight into the beams of the floor.

"Are you fuckin' serious?" I muttered.

"Jackie, I got somethin' in my back pocket. I grabbed it while they was all gettin' beers," Wade whispered. He wormed his way to his feet and stood in front of me. I hesitated, an eyebrow raised as he stepped back toward my right hand. If he was in his right state of mind, maybe it was something useful. My fingertips stretched around the curve of his pocket and gripped the handle of an object.

"Be careful when you pull it out, okay? It's open already," he explained. He took a step forward and a butterfly knife glistened in my grasp.

"What the fuck, Wade? How long have you had this?" I hissed, struggling to keep calm and quiet.

"Not long. I kinda grabbed it off a table behind me when they was talkin' to T-Trevor. They'll probably be lookin' for it soon," he warned.

"Come here," I urged. "I'll cut you loose then you cut me loose and we're gettin' out of here."

"How? They got the door locked and they got somebody standin' watch, you know that. And what about Trevor? He might be comin'."

I fiercely shook my head, eyes darting around the barn. There was a ladder leading up to a second floor. Barns usually had windows, yeah? Or this piece of crap would at least have a hole in the roof we could take our chances climbing out of.

"Might ain't sure enough for me and if he did make his way here, who's to say he ain't gonna get himself mowed down by all of 'em?" I shot back.

"He took out Johnny and his friends. I saw the whole thing. Me and Ron was there."

"This ain't a bunch of meth heads. They ain't from 'round here, Wade. They managed to find you and get you to give me up, didn't they?"

His eyes slowly lowered to the floor before he finally turned around and let me cut the tape binding his wrist together behind his back. He had cut free his ankles then my own and only one of my wrists when the locks on the door started turning again.

"Hide!" I quietly shrieked. He panicked before crouching behind two bales of dry hay stacked on top of one another in a corner. I laid the cut tape over my wrist and sat completely still. The biker came sauntering over, a beer in one hand and a socket wrench in the other. I could tell by the way he moved that he was drunk and judging by the muffled music coming from somewhere outside of the barn, a good bit of the group were probably having a good time too. New place to call home, why not enjoy yourselves...

He continued my way, an odd smirk on his face. I knew where this was headed. I had seen that look before. I wanted to spit in his face already.

"How ya doing?" he purred. I didn't respond, lips tight and body rigid. If he noticed I was almost free of the chair or that Wade was missing, it would be a wrap. Unless I stopped him. A pit settled into my chest. I hadn't really really hurt anyone in a long time and I was trying to keep it that way.

"Wanna sip?" he asked, tilting his beer toward my face. I shook my head back and forth.

"Suit yourself," he said with a careless sigh. He stuffed the socket wrench in the pocket of his jacket and started to unzip his dusty jeans. I leaned back in the chair as far as I could.

"What are you doin'?" I asked.

"You know. Suck me off and maybe I'll tell King to take it easy on you. Maybe he will keep you around for a few good reasons," he suggested. I had to stop myself from scoffing. My eyes lingered on the tool jutting from inside of his pocket before meeting his gaze and nodding just slightly. I seductively licked my lips and slightly leaned toward him, inviting him in.

"That's the spirit," he cracked with a grin. He pulled his half-flaccid member from his pants and eagerly stepped right up to me.

"You're kind of cute. Prettiest little mouth I've seen down here so far. It's a shame what we're gonna do with you," he uttered as he grabbed my chin and started pulling me forward. He shook his head slightly and shot a glance over his shoulder.

"Wait a sec. Where's the other-"

My trembling hand shot out from beneath the tape. I gripped the handle of the tool in his pocket and wildly swung. It connected with the meat of his face and opened up his cheek. Blood began to pour down his face and drip down off of his jaw.

"What the fuck?" he declared, staggering backward a couple of steps. "Patty? Patty!"

The woman rushed into the barn, doe eyed and a little high.

"Jesus Christ, Paul. What's happened to you?"

"That bitch. Tape her back down. I'm getting King. We need to speed this process up before I fucking kill her myself. Find her little friend too," he ordered before shutting and locking the door behind him. She eyed me, sitting halfway in the chair with some of Paul's blood on my pants.

"How did you get out?" she asked, sniffling and wiping at her nose. The others might not be using or shooting up, but she sure was. I could only understand why.

"W-Where's your friend? What'd you do to Paul?" she continued.

Wade stepped out of the shadows and grabbed her from behind, pressing the blade to her throat.

"Kill me. It won't get you anywhere. You're still as good as dead. My friends will avenge me."

"Your friends? Do you think they give a fuck about you? They locked you in here with us. I told you earlier. They don't care," I quickly explained. "If you can get us outta here, I'll help you. I promise. Get us outta this barn and offa this farm and I'll make sure The Lost don't hurt you anymore."

"That's impossible. We found you, didn't we?"

"That was my fault," Wade spoke up. "Sorry, Jackie, again. Won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't happen again 'cause you're both gonna be dead by the time Paul tells King what you've-"

Gunshots. The radio that had been playing somewhere was cut short and twice the amount of gunshots rang out.

"Oh fuck!" Patty let out. She wiggled in Wade's grasp before kicking him and running for the door. Wade rushed over and cut me free. I watched Patty struggle with the door before she ran for a ladder. I bolted after her and pulled her back down to the hay-strewn floor. She swung at me and pulled my hair, but I gripped her throat and started choking her out. My blood rushed in my ears louder than the gunshots and shouts. I kept her pinned under me until her blows weakened then I let go and started up the ladder with Wade right at my heels.

The second floor of the barn was littered with damp hay and old newspapers. What remained of a coyote carcass was heaped in a corner. The two of us approached a small window that overlooked the rear of the farm. A few bikers were fleeing through the field for the shops and mountains. I used the wrench to break the glass and was starting to climb through the window when I heard the creaking of the door downstairs.

"Oh, Waaaade! Jackieeee!" that familiar voice roughly crooned. Wade immediately ran back for the ladder and peered at Trevor, who was standing just below us with a grip on a bloodied Paul who had his arms around Patty.

"Don't hurt her," Paul whimpered.

"Shut up!" Trevor hissed. Fresh blood was on his shirt. He held a sawn-off shotgun in his left hand and a pistol was shoved into the waistband of his dirty trousers. There was a wicked, wide-toothed grin plastered across his face as we both climbed back down the ladder.

"You two look like hell," Trevor claimed. I held onto my sore side and straightened myself out as best I could.

"I didn't come for you, Jacquelyn. I came for Wade because he has always been loyal to me. He has always been there to help me whenever I asked for anything. Ain't that right, Wade?" Trevor questioned. Wade nodded, but I noted him wince when Trevor raised his hand to pat him on the back.

"You ain't gettin' no rise outta me. Either way, you came," I sent him a dismissive wave and limped past the group.

"Where're you going?" Trevor asked.

"Home. If you don't mind, I would like to wash the taste of blood and dirt out of my mouth and reschedule my damn interview that these ass hats almost made me miss all together."

"Wait. What do you wanna do with these two?" he growled. "I know revenge isn't exactly your type of thing, but me on the other hand... Well, you know how I can be."

I pursed my lips and turned to look at Paul and Patty.

"Help us? Please?" Patty begged. "I didn't... We didn't know what we were getting into. We came here with them and all they said was business needed to be taken care of. They didn't say anything about a kidnapping. Paul and I, we just thought we could use the money. We didn't think..."

I crossed the room and glared down at the semi-unconscious man in Trevor's grasp cradling the smaller woman beside him. My heart leapt into my throat.

"This your brother?" I inquired.

"He is. Yes. My young brother, Paul. We joined around a year ago and we just-"

"Get away from The Lost and get off the drugs," I ordered. "You stay with these people and you will die, you understand me? If you and me cross paths like this again..."

My jaw clenched and I angrily shook my head.

"Go to the Yellow Jack Inn. It's by the airfield. Go and tell the woman behind the bar that Straightjacket Jackie sent you. I'll be back to check," I explained. I didn't wait for her response before finally leaving the stuffy barn. Even in the dim light, I could make out bodies strewn across still purring motorcycles and lying in the orange dirt. The few that had gotten away were lucky. My jaw and side throbbed with pain from being struck over the past few hours. If I saw any of them again, I wouldn't go soft on them. They had not been soft on me.

Trevor emerged from the barn a few moments later with Wade. I was starting away from the farm and heading for the main road. I wasn't sure where I was going or how I would get there. I wanted to be anywhere, but here. My head hurt. Everything hurt. My hair was knotted. A combination of mine and Paul's blood stained my clothes. I hadn't eaten. I needed a smoke. I think... I think I had homework to do. I collapsed to my hands and knees then heaved my guts out in the dirt beneath me.

"You sure were nice to people who beat the snot outta you," Trevor's voice remarked in my ear as he picked me up and tried standing me upright. My legs were jell-o beneath me as everything struggled to make itself right side up again. I sucked in a couple deep breaths of cool air before letting out a bold,

"Fuck you, Trevor."

He let me go and I fell again, this time landing flat on my back. I stared up at the deep purple sky. Sunrise was on its way. Another day was here. I had lived to see another day. Just drop it, Jackie. No need to start an argument. No, not in your current condition. Just your luck, Trevor was your best ticket out of here.

"You're the reason I'm in this anyway," I continued. Damn it.

"Excuse me?" he growled, voice rising.

"I was fine in Los Santos, then you showed up and brought the county bullshit with you. You made me go back to the camp and people saw me and started talkin' again. And Wade-"

"Don't blame Wade for anything!" he declared. He gripped the collar of my shirt and jerked me to my feet then pinned me against the side of a ramshackle house. His arm pressed against my wind pipe and I coughed blood right in his face. He didn't even flinch.

"Wade can't help what they did to him, but Wade didn't make you join the Lost and I didn't make you come back here. You were scared of me and that don't make it my fault. I didn't put a gun to your head, did I?" he explained through his teeth. We shared a tense stare for a moment before he let me go and began to straighten out my shirt and jacket. He swiped my hair out of my eyes and brushed some dirt off of my shoulders. I didn't have the strength to press the issue or push him away.

"Now let's get you to a fuckin' hospital before you keel over. Keep talking like that and I might just let you," he warned.

"You won't. You ain't make this trip for nothin'!" I said with half a laugh. I felt damn near delirious. Which way was up? He hoisted my left arm over his shoulders and Wade held up the other side of me as best he could. We made our way to Trevor's truck parked around the back of the house. I slowly climbed into the passenger's seat and relaxed against the torn seat. Wade slammed the door closed behind me then hopped into the bed of the truck.

"Trevor?" I called once he claimed the driver's seat.

"Hmph?"

"Is Tracey okay?"

He turned the key and the engine roared louder than his response. My ears started ringing and there was a buzzing behind my eyes.

"Trevor?" I tried again, but my voice came muffled.

"Jackie? Jackie!" Wade yelled. Trevor shook my shoulders, but I couldn't respond. I couldn't move. My eyes felt heavy and my limbs tingled. I felt impossibly empty and sick. A darkness was washing in over the Alamo Sea as we started speeding along it. Trevor barked my name. My tongue lazily sat in the bottom of my mouth as I slumped against the door and my eyelids fluttered shut...

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I snapped awake, my nose desperately sucking in air for my burning chest. I stared straight up at a dirty fluorescent light. I looked down and found myself tucked beneath pale yellow sheets in a stiff hospital bed. A machine to my left beeped and my head snapped in its direction. Plastic tubes sending cool oxygen up my nostrils stopped me from moving too fast. I had been stripped down to a blue, flimsy gown and adorned with random bandages. I could feel them on my side and running down my left leg.

The door to the small room swung open and a nurse pushed her way in with a cart full of containers.

"Oh good, Ms. Townsend. You're awake. I brought ya lunch," she said with a sweet smile. She rounded the bed and placed a tray in my lap then began to load it with food containers. The clock on the wall read just after twelve-twenty. My stomach audibly growled and she laughed.

"Looks like I chose the right time to show up, huh?"

"W-What happened to me?"

"Not quite sure. A passerby found ya lying on the stairs of the center. You were unconscious when we brought you in and got you a room. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?" she asked. The Lost. I remembered smelling leather and hearing Trevor's truck. I looked to the nurse and woefully shook my head.

"Well, maybe it'll come back to you with some rest," she said, starting to fluff my pillows and re-tuck my sheets. She pressed a button that made the top half of the bed sit up-right. I sat up with it and ogled the burgundy name tag pinned to her grey scrubs. 'Wilma, RN. SSMC'. I knew those initials. Where had I seen them? I started racking through my thoughts, but it made my head spin. My mouth watered with nausea.

"I'll be back in an hour to check ya vitals. The police will visit later on today to make sure it wasn't anything too bad that happened to ya. Eat up," she ordered. She sent me another smile before swiftly leaving the room. I opened my right hand to pick up my fork, but a folded piece of paper fell onto the tray. I shot the door a glance then opened the note. 'TRIED 2 TAKE U 2 LOS SANTOS BUT 2 FAR. IN CASE U R NOT DEAD, CHEK UNDER PILLOW. B BACK. TAKIN CARE OF STUFF. -T'.

I slipped a hand under the pillow propped beneath my back and withdrew the folded butterfly knife Wade had held on to last. The events of the last day or so rushed back at me. The van, the crash, the barn, the threats. My face hurt and so did my side and legs. I slipped the blade back under the pillow and focused on the tray in front of me. I popped open the styrofoam and was met with a cold cheese sandwich, a cup of chocolate pudding, three baby carrots, and a grape juice box. I popped the carrots in my mouth and started on the sandwich. The machine let out another monotonous beep as the knot in my stomach began to ease.

Patients, nurses and doctors murmured in the hallway neighboring my room. I watched shadows pass by the blinds. There was a small,muted television perched on a cart sitting at the foot of my bed. On the other side of the room was an open window with no curtains. I could hear a train passing through the small town. I looked back down at the half empty tray. 'PROPERTY OF SANDY SHORES MEDICAL CENTER' was printed across the bottom.

I drew in a sharp breath. Trevor. Where was he? The voices in the hall turned to whispers. The last time I had been here was when I had to pick up Samuel. It had been a week before he was killed. He was fussing about chest pains, which he kept passing off for asthma and allergies, but I knew better. The doctors drew blood and, knowing he wasn't clean, we both fled before the results came back. Later that night, it made the news that The Lost MC had visited the hospital and murdered a doctor.

This wasn't right. I could not stay here. They would find out who I was. They would probably call the police. I fiddled with the hidden blade. The bikers who had run off upon Trevor's arrival... They were still out there. They would not wait until I had my strength back. They would come back. I had to get further south, back to Los Santos. Like Trevor had once said - It's easy to hide from whatever's lookin' for you, what with the buildings that loom and dark alleys.

Wasting no time, I moved the tray to the side and and slipped from the bed. The linoleum was ice cold against my feet. A dull pain radiated from my right ankle up to my calf. I hissed and lifted the hem of the gown to reveal a short line of half a dozen stitches. I recalled my pants going warm with blood after I was dragged through the glass from Tracey's broken window. I started for my pile of clothes on the corner counter when a shadow passed my room and stopped just outside my door.

"This one here, you said? She's awake?" a deep, muffled voice asked.

"Yeah, she just woke up. I'm sure she won't mind a visitor," I heard my nurse say. The door swung open and King stepped in the room. He had shed the leather jacket and looked a lot less menacing standing there in black jeans and a dark t-shirt and vest. He sent me a smile then locked the door behind him.

"Darling Jackie," he greeted. "We've got some unfinished business to tend to."

As he reached into his jacket, I shoved the television cart his way. He clumsily squeezed off a round from his pistol, which whistled through a silencer and left a hole in the ceiling when the cart bumped into him. I dashed for the bed and swiped up the blade, flipping it open until it glistened under the lights. He laughed.

"The fuck are you going to get done with that?" he brandished his pistol.

"Wanna find out?" I snapped. I will be damned if I died here.

He lifted the nose of the gun and squeezed out another round. My body protested in pain as I threw myself down on the floor, sending the knife right through the middle of one of his boots with all of my body weight. King yelped and another round shattered the covered window as he caught the side of my face with his knuckles.

"Bitch!" he cursed. I crawled for the blade and yanked it out of his foot. He cursed again and shot once more, this time aiming toward my spot near the ground. The bullet grazed my left arm and I knew what I had to do if I wanted to make it out of here alive and not in police custody. There was shouting in the hall now. People were running. The train outside was long gone. King gripped a handful of my hair and tried kneeing me in the face. Instead, I stuck the knife straight into the meat of his thigh. He staggered back against the wall with a howl.

Again, I pulled out the blade. This time, I dragged it across his neck just below where his goatee ended. His skin rolled back and opened up to bleed out like a hog. Blood gurgled in his throat. He dropped his gun and both of his hands clapped to cover his leaking wound. With a tensed jaw, I looked him right in the eyes as I jabbed the already bloodied knife into his belly over and over. I didn't stop until his hands went slack and the light left his eyes.

"Miss Townsend? Are you okay? Open the door! Ms. Townsend!" several voices ordered. I finally stepped away from King's bleeding body and let out a shaky breath. A sob got caught in my throat. What little I had eaten wanted its way back out. The door knob shook and someone else began pulling at the blinds that had covered the window. I tucked the blade between my stack of clothes, snatched them up, and threw myself out of the window leading out into the humid desert.


	15. Chapter 15

Blood. Urine. I heard a rat squeak somewhere behind the raggedy couch I was resting on. Fuck. The smell of old blood and urine just would not let up for anything. I had slept around hungry coyotes scratching at my trailer's door, overdosed junkies having seizures, and hookers getting banged from behind while they shot whatever drugs they could find into the crooks of their scabbed over elbows... This was heaven compared to all that I had been through and here I was, complaining about the smell.

I shook the ashes from my half-smoked cigarette onto the floor then stuck it right back between my lips. A little ash wouldn't hurt anything in the pig-pen that was Trevor's trailer. After fleeing the hospital on foot, this was the closest and safest place I could think to go. The Yellow Jack Inn was in the opposite direction, but saw dozens of faces everyday. No one would dare to step right inside the Philips' den and I was in no mood for prying.

I had been laying duck here for what felt like hours. After showering as best I could in his tiny bathroom, I had put my bloody jeans back on, stolen one of Trevor's dingy, white V-necks, and was now sprawled out on top of whatever body fluids were clinging to this flimsy couch like cologne. I didn't dare go near his bed, but I had to put the hospital gown down for cover somewhere before my aching body damn near collapsed. I had even dug up a mostly empty pack of Debonaire's buried in one of his messy drawers.

I hadn't moved from my spot since I taken it up. The urge to throw up came and went. All I could think about was what almost happened to me in the hospital room and what I had done in order to get out of there in one piece. I peered down at my still shaking hands. A bit of King's blood was caked under a few of my nails. I concentrated on the sound of coyotes yipping in the distance and slow cars idling nearby as King's gurgle tried to replay in my ears again.

I stared up at the ceiling, focusing my attention on the dull throb radiating up my leg. Half of the stitches in my leg were covered with some dusty gauze I had found in Trevor's medicine cabinet. During my escape, I had torn most of the stitches I had woken up with at Sandy Shores Medical Center. The blood washing down Trevor's drain had taken forever to run clear as I cleansed myself of mine, King's, and Paul's blood. Paul. Paul and Patty. I wondered if they had made it to the Inn, or if they really even wanted to. If they put forth an effort, maybe I could help. I had killed their leader, in pure self-defense... Fuck. I clapped a hand to my eyes as they began to well with tears again. I had actually killed someone. I had been called crazy for many things, none of which were taking someone's life. I was a fighter. I took no shit. I spat in the face of cops. I stood up for myself and other people. I had punched men and women, officers of the law and shit-talking pedestrians. I told people about themselves and scared them enough for them to learn their lesson. What the hell had King learned?

"Not to fuck with me," I answered aloud, my own voice scaring me. I finished the cigarette and snubbed it in the broken ashtray. I sat up and held my face in my hands as my thoughts took off again. Someone would find out. The remaining Lost members would hire a snitch to talk to the police. It would all be over. All that hard work for nothing.

"And I still don't know if Tracey's alright," I complained. It was my fault. Whatever state she was in was because of me. I pressed the balls of my hands into my tired eyes and sniffled. Not hours before the accident, I had just told Michael I would never bring harm to his daughter. She had been responsive in the car. She had to be alright. I thought about the last words her dad and I had exchanged and how pissed he would be. Her brother and mother too. And Franklin.

I grew tempted to hobble my way over to the corner store across the street and buy another pack of cigarettes and a cheap, prepaid phone. I just needed to call someone. I needed to talk. I needed some answers. Some clarity. And where the fuck was Trevor?

Tires kicked up sand outside and a spray of rocks tinkled as they struck against the corrugated metal trailer. Gravel cracked beneath a pair of feet. Someone whistled all the way up the creaky stairs. The tune didn't even falter when a broad man paused in the doorway and locked eyes with me sitting in his humid trailer. Trevor. He thrust a bag of warm, leftover diner food my way without a word. I graciously accepted. He sauntered through the room and took a seat on the edge of his kitchen table. Popping the top off of a Pisswasser, he then took a swig and rolled his tensed shoulders.

"Where's Wade?" I asked over a mouth full of greasy cheese steak.

"Ron's tendin' his wounds at a safe house. Is that my shirt?" he curiously inquired.

"Had to borrow it. Your smokes too. Makes up for you just leavin' me on the hospital stairs to die."

"You were still breathin' and I didn't pull off until I seen people comin' who I knew would see you."

"Anyone coulda came for me."

"Then I guess it's good I told Wade to leave you that knife, eh? What happened?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"Bullshit, sugartits. I left you unconscious at a hospital then come home to find you with somebody else's blood dried under your fingernails? I can see it in your eyes. Don't you fucking lie to me too," he ordered. He knew. He just wanted to hear me say it so he could revel in it. Straitjacket Jackie had officially snapped. She had slice and diced one of her "sworn" brethren in a hospital room then fled the scene. She had killed one of the many types of people that Trevor Philips loathed. She had sunk to his level.

"King came for me. He had a gun so I cut his throat," I finally spoke up. Trevor's muddy brown eyes lit up like fireworks.

"Well I'll be fucked. I thought it was one of his men," he let out, astonished. "I didn't think he would go himself. The Lost really are a bunch of idiots. You alright?"

I looked to where he was sitting. A genuine tone of concern had crept into his gruff voice.

"I'm alive. That's what counts," I said with a small sigh.

"It'll get easier," he noted.

"I don't plan on makin' killin' a hobby."

"You'll be surprised the things you've got to do when it really comes down to it," he countered.

"The only thing I've got to do is get back to the city. I gotta see Tracey and go to school. If we leave now, I could make my interview. Maybe I could even reschedule hers for her."

"Oh, yeah. You'll get hired right up lookin' like that. A black eye and some bruises will win over anyone," he chimed chock full of sarcasm. "Why don't you come back to the club?"

"In my condition? After you tried to blackmail me? Yeah. Sounds great," I shot back with a snarl. He sat down his drink and marched over to lean against the counter across from me.

"Maybe all this was my fault, mkay? I dug up some dirt that was long settled. So I owe you. I'll give you your old shift back at the Vanilla Unicorn. I'll keep my boundaries."

A stiff silence settled around us. He was being serious. I looked down at the food in my hands before wrapping it back in its paper and leaning back against the couch. I missed the busy nights. I missed the other girls chattiness and how good it felt to have people literally throw money my way. I looked up at Trevor who had raised an eyebrow.

"You tried to blackmail me," I repeated and he immediately rolled his bright eyes. "If it happens again... Yer kissin' my sweet ass goodbye for good."

A grin cracked over his face. "You didn't wanna make a livin' scrubbing toilets and foldin' sheets anyway. Come on. Let's get outta here."

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"You still with me, champ?" Trevor's gruff tone tore me from whatever daze I had slipped into as we barreled down Senora Freeway. My bloody pants were stiff and uncomfortable. There were scabs on some of my knuckles from my grapple with Patty. The food Trevor had given me was helping ward off the tail end of a headache. I could smell my own sweat. As we whizzed past the casino and race track, I realized just how much I had managed to long for Los Santos in such a short time away. The exhaust fumes. The muffled music and talk show radio. The mindless buzz in the air. It sounded almost like a lullaby. The tension the desert brought on seemed to melt off of my shoulders as we wove deeper into the city. I sat up straighter and sucked in a few deep breaths.

"So how are we gonna work this out?" I asked. "I can't just start workin' at the club. I gotta heal up first. It'll be a good two weeks before these stitches need takin' out."

"Maybe you can give some tug jobs or work the bar for a couple hours. I'll figure somethin' out," he replied, eyes trained on the road. He raised his left hand to his mouth and began to nibble on his thumb nail.

"Are you alright?"

"What?" he placed both hands on the steering wheel again and glanced over at me. "Yeah."

I watched him for a while, all the way until we parked behind Pillbox Hill Medical Center. He was deep in thought, his eyes darting back and forth as his mind worked. I was tempted to ask him what was going on in his head when I caught sight of Michael sitting on a bench just outside the glass doors. He locked eyes with me and stood. Trevor was out of the truck before me. He snatched the cigarette Michael was smoking right out of his hands and snubbed it out beneath one of his boots.

"Ain't somebody told you smoking is bad? Especially outside a fuckin' hospital?" I heard Trevor growling as I slowly limped up to the two men. He didn't respond to his best friend's warning. Instead, he pulled out his cigarette carton and offered it over to me. I pointed to the sign on the wall that read 'NO SMOKING AREA' and shook my head.

"Suit yourself. You look like you need it. Where have you been?"

"Your girlfriend can catch you up on her adventure later. She's here to check on Tracey," Trevor announced. "You know, your daughter who is currently confined to a hospital room? A room where you should be? Not outside slowly killing yourself."

"Says the methamphetamine enthusiast," Michael shot back with a wry laugh. He sent two nurses a glare as they looked our way. "I'll be up in a minute."

I started after Trevor, but Michael grabbed my arm and pulled me back toward him.

"I'm really glad you're okay," he said.

"Yeah, me too," I quietly agreed. I brushed away his hand and sent him a small nod before making my way inside the cool building. I hurriedly hobbled along as best I could to keep up with Trevor's determined strides.

"What do you see in that piece of shit?" he spoke up on the elevator.

"Who?" I absentmindedly asked then quickly shook my head. "Michael? What? I don't... I don't see nothin' in him. We're friends."

"So you fuck your friends?"

"Trevor, not now. Jesus fuckin'... I just..." I had to take a deep breath to calm my growing irritability. "It was a one, err, two time thing. Never happenin' again."

"He's married, y'know. I once had a sort of thing with a married woman. Best couple of days of my life. Anyway, it's shitty. Someone always winds up getting hurt, blah de blah. If you're gonna go after someone already accounted for, at least make sure they're worth it."

"Ain't you a saint all of a sudden?" I scoffed. "He helped me pay a few bills. Like I said, it won't ever happen again."

Once we reached the third floor, the elevator dinged and the door dragged open. Michael's wife looked up from her phone and started forward. I side-stepped her to follow Trevor, but she yanked me into a tight embrace.

"Jackie! Oh!" Amanda squealed. "I'm so glad you're okay!"

I stood still, stunned and in growing pain. I could hear Trevor's quiet chuckle as he held the door open. Amanda held me away at arms length and sweetly smiled.

"Tracey will be so happy to see you. What happened?" she let out a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You probably need to rest. Tracey's in room 303." She let me go and looked expectantly to Trevor.

"He's out front, smoking and wallowing in some self-manifested self-pity," he explained.

"Nothing new. Good to see you, Jackie," Amanda said before Trevor let the doors close. He looked at me with a shit-eating grin.

"Dancing on a mighty thin line, sport."

"Shut up," I started leading the way to the room using the numbers on the wall. It wasn't far from the elevator. I knocked on the door twice before letting myself in. The room was wide, much bigger than the room I had woken up in at Sandy Shore Medical Center. Jimmy was sprawled across an indigo couch with his laptop in his lap and headphones over his ears. He quickly pulled them off when he saw me.

"Look, Tracey. I think you got off the hook easier than your friend," he noted. The bed came into view as I stepped deeper into the room. Tracey was laying in it with her body elevated so she could sit up and watch television or eat. Of course her phone was in her hands and she was pecking away at the screen. There was a brace on her left wrist and a bandage over her slightly swollen nose. Her eyes lit up when she saw me but she still donned a frown.

"Jackie! Oh my gosh. What happened? Who were those people? Did they do that to you?"

A heavy weight fluttered out of my chest and left me with tears in my eyes. Tracey was fine.

"Oh no. First my mom, now you're gonna cry too?" she complained. She was just fine. I sputtered on a laugh and stood by her side.

"You're a wreck. Jimmy? Check mom's purse. See if she's got any of her Valium left," she ordered.

"No, I'm alright. I was just worried about you. All I heard was you screamin' before they knocked me out and dragged me away. You talk to any cops yet?"

"No. De Santas don't do cops. That's daddy's motto. He wouldn't let me when they tried, anyway. He said he had to talk to you about it first."

She looked uncomfortable.

"It's nothin' like that," I glanced at Jimmy, who had put his headphones back on and was glued to his computer screen. "We already talked about it. Me and him are just friends."

There was a knock on the door and Franklin stepped in with flowers in his grasp. We locked eyes and I tensed.

"Nice seeing you too, Jackie. You good?" he greeted.

"I'm sorry, Franklin. Me and Tracey were out shopping and these pricks-"

"Aye, don't worry 'bout that right now. Shit happens, but y'all are both okay," his eyes darted over my bloodied clothes and torn frame. "For the most part. Do you know who it was that did this?"

I hesitated and chewed on my tongue.

"So what're you gonna do 'bout it?" he continued. He pulled up a chair and sat down on the opposite side of Tracey's bed. He took one of her hands in his grasp and kissed the back of it.

"I already did what had to be done," I answered. Talking about it made if feel like King's blood was warm on my hands again and I started to wring my fingers. Jimmy stood up and began shoving his belongings inside a backpack.

"I gotta bounce to work. See you F-dog," he said, rising a cringe out of Franklin. "Bye Trace. Jackie."

When the door closed behind him and the three of us were alone, Franklin spoke again.

"So what'd you do? I gotta worry 'bout something like this happening again?"

"I don't think so. The man who sent 'em after me... I killed him."

Tracey quickly looked away from me and lowered her eyes. Franklin gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and I looked away from the duo.

"I'm gonna go and get myself together, y'know? I'm tired," I claimed. "Tracey, did you-"

"I already rescheduled my interview," she interrupted in a voice much quieter than before, her eyes still away from me. The door opened again and Amanda sauntered in with a nurse who was carrying a tray of hospital food.

"Good afternoon Miss De Santa. I've got your snacks," the nurse announced. I made my way out of the room without another word. I slowly let out a deep breath once I was in the quiet hallway.

"So was I right or was I right?"

I jumped at Michael's voice. He was leaning against the wall just beside the door with his hands in the pockets of his suit pants.

"Right about what?"

"You running amuck in the city."

"I was in the county, you ass."

"Ah, now she opens up. What's wrong with you?"

"You mean other than the fact I got kidnapped and used as bait for your best friend by some fucks I don't even know?" I hissed through my teeth. "Where's Trevor?"

"He took Jimmy to work. Who were the kidnappers?"

I looked to him incredulously. "You couldn't take your own son to work?"

"He specifically asked Trevor. My kids hate me, you know that. Come on. I'll give you a ride home. We can catch up," he nonchalantly volunteered as he loped toward the elevator.

"I'll call a cab," I narrowed my eyes at him. He stretched his neck before closing the distance between us.

"A cab, yeah? And pay for it with what money?"

"Oh, fuck off!" I shoved him away from me. "I've got enough to get by."

"Is that why you might get evicted?"

"Michael..." I warned.

"You're gonna need some more bandages too. You should really get treated here. You got insurance to cover that, right? Your tuition? Your rent? What about needless spending? New clothes and-"

I gripped the collar of his button-up and shoved him against the wall. Several pairs of eyes peeked our way. My own eyes were damp and burning when I glared up at the man in front of me. A hundred thoughts flashed behind my eyes. You spend more time with me than you do Tracey. I'm not your fuckin' wife, don't tell me what I can and can't make happen. Your son would rather hang with Trevor than his own father? That's sayin' somethin'. I made a mistake takin' you home-

"I don't need to hear yer criticism right now," I seethed through my teeth. A security guard began to make his way toward us. I let go of Michael and took a step back. He put a hand up to the guard.

"We're fine. Just some stress. We're leaving now," he coolly explained. I put up both my hands to show the guard I meant no harm. He escorted us down the hall in silence then pressed the button to call for the elevator.

"Long day?" Michael light-heartedly asked the guard. He jutted a thumb over his shoulder at me. "She's had an even longer one."

I muttered under my breath and rolled my eyes, fidgeting with the slightly over-sized shirt I wore. When the metal doors opened, a doctor stepped out. We stepped on and the guard did too. Michael leaned over and pressed the button to hold the doors open.

"Come on, buddy. We know the way out. We're fine. I promise," he insisted.

"Your day will be the longest of everyone's if you don't take your finger off that button," the guard warned. Michael begrudgingly left the button alone and we were on our way to the first floor. I was tired. I was stressed. I needed a hot shower, more food, and my soft bed. I probably had homework to do. The beefy guard in front of us continued leading us all the way up to the glass doors leading outside. I shook my head and Michael looked my way. He pushed open a door and waved me on in front of him. Once outside, I ran a hand over my face and took a few slow, steady breaths.

"Wait here. I'll be back with my car," he explained before jogging around the side of the building. I started walking north. My wounds complained every step I took. It was like a dull blow every time my foot came down on the sidewalk. I was crossing the bridge passing over Del Perro Freeway when Michael pulled up beside me. He rolled down the passenger window and shot me a skeptical glance.

"It ain't that far. Go back to your family, Michael," I urged.

"You want me to sit in that hospital room for a sprained wrist and a busted nose? I'll be back before anyone needs me. Besides, you can't get in without these," he dangled something in one of his hands. My fucking wallet and keys. I tilted my head back and let out a loud cry that echoed over the busy freeway.

"Picked them up outta Tracey's car before we scrapped it. Quit being such a stubborn prick and get in."

I took one more step before the ground came up at me fast. I groaned as I rolled onto my back and squinted up at the cloudless sky. My body was beyond exhausted. Michael's car came to a halt alongside the curb and I heard his door open. Fuckin' fantastic. He's gonna love this.

"What'd I tell ya?" he slipped one arm under my knees and another beneath my shoulders. He grunted slightly as he lifted me from the warm pavement.

"Fuck off," I managed to let out again.

"I could leave you out here for someone else to pick up," he suggested as he lowered me into the backseat of his Tailgater. "You know, AGAIN, but I'm not that kind of guy."

"God. I hate you," I groaned as he started driving again.

"Not the first or last time I'll hear that. So what happened?" he called over his shoulder.

"What do you care?"

"I don't. Is there someone I have to add to my hit list."

"No," I winced and hoisted myself upright in the seat. "I took care of it."

"They dead?" his cold eyes flickered back to me in the rear view mirror.

"Trevor took a few out of the picture when he came and got me. The one in charge came for me in the hospital, but I killed him," I explained.

"You killed him?"

"He was tryna kill me," I added before he could say anything else.

"Okay okay... That explains all the hostility," he muttered.

"'scuse me?"

"Nothing, nothing. We're here."

He pulled in right beside my SUV. I hobbled out of his car and gave the trunk of my vehicle a good pat. A few shards of glass cracked and popped beneath my shoes. I looked out at the street where Tracey and I had been idling before the impact.

"Hey," Michael gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Come on."

Just before Michael slid my key into the door, Dr. Mayor came marching around the corner.

"You will get your money," I immediately let out before he could start up.

"I was coming to tell you I'm giving you a break this month. A few of the tenants who were outside when it happened told me about the accident," the squat man looked me over. "This man, however, leaves before the sun goes down if you want my word. Got it, Miss Townsend?"

"Bite me," Michael let out and I elbowed him in his ribs.

"You got it," I nodded. "Thanks."

Dr. Mayor cast Michael a long look until he unlocked the door and let us inside. MoJo came running for the door, loudly meowing.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, bud. Momma's been busy," I immediately set out some food and filled his water dish. Michael set my keys on the counter then pulled a pistol from the waistband of his suit.

"You never know," he said with a shrug. He popped open the hall closet, then the bedroom and bathroom doors.

"It's clear!" he called. I limped back to the bedroom and plopped down on the edge of the bed then sprawled out with a deep groan. A moment later, Michael was on his knees in front of me.

"Stop," I ordered, eyes closed.

"You're kidding right?" he said with a light laugh. "You smell like shit and you're covered in blood. I'm just tryna make you comfortable."

I felt him tugging off my shoes and socks.

"Sorry," I murmured. He unbuttoned my stained jeans and wriggled them past my hips before peeling them off my legs. I hummed slightly, one corner of my mouth twitching into a small smile. The fabric had felt glued to me.

"You need anything?" he asked. I felt his hand hover over my stitches and my leg twitched a little. He gripped my ankles and swung both my legs into the bed. I adjusted my head on the pillow, eyes still closed. Sleep was dangerously close.

"Aspirin," I nearly whispered. "Peroxide."

"In the bathroom and do I hafta make a store run?" he asked from somewhere near the foot of the bed. I huffed against the heaviness creeping into my chest.

"Store run."

I heard his feet march for the door.

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you pick up a pizza too?"

He laughed and muttered a small "Okay" before I heard the bedroom door shut behind him. I felt my eyes rolling behind their closed lids, but I didn't let myself fall asleep until I heard the front door close and the bolt turn into the lock.


	16. Chapter 16

It was a harsh vibrating right next to my head that jarred me from my sleep. Dazed, I blindly pat around the mattress until my fingertips grazed the vibrating device. I sat up which sent my pillows tumbling to the floor. The white sheets tangled around my legs beneath the thick comforter snared against my stitches, rising a wince out of me. I swiped at my bleary eyes and struggled to look at the illuminated screen of the unfamiliar phone in my grasp. It was an alarm. Was it mine? I groaned and flopped right back against the mattress. Something stiff poked me between the shoulder blades. With another complaint, I rolled over and tugged at it, freeing it from my blankets. Leftover pizza crust. My lips turned down into a frown. I didn't remember eating and my stomach was not growling, so apparently I had.

I focused on the phone in my left hand. The numbers on the screen read ten in the morning. I had managed to sleep well over half a day. I rolled over again. This time, the scent of my own arm pits made me sit right up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. My dirty pants were splayed across the floor. Trevor's shirt hung lazily off of one of my shoulders. The greasy pizza box sat on my dresser across the bedroom. I looked down at my legs. My bandage needed changing.

"Alright, Jackie," I muttered to myself. "You got work to do."

As I pushed to stand, the phone vibrated against the comforter with a faintly familiar number dancing on the screen.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Ah. The alarm must have actually worked. I didn't know what the hell I was doing with the thing," came Michael's overly enthusiastic tone. "Liking your phone?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. "I don't want it."

"But you NEED it considering the screen of your old one was found shattered at the wreckage site," he continued in a know-it-all response.

"This don't mean a thing. What we talked about before still stands. You handle your shit. I will handle my own."

"Are you telling yourself this for Tracey's sake, Amanda's, or your own?"

"All of the above."

"What's it gonna take? A hundred? Two? Three?"

"I ain't a prostitute and I ain't gonna tell you that many times more without you facin' some fuckin' consequences. You can get a blowjob in your car for less than thirty dollars after the sun goes down and you know it."

"Yeah," he remarked with a sigh. "I will probably have to settle for one of them to tide me over till you come back around."

I scoffed and ended the call. I had more important things to do than get harassed by a man who thought he could buy his way into my bedroom. Sure, he had done it before, but... I had to get my life back on track and screwing around with the married father of one of my few friends was not making much of a positive contribution. Even if it did somehow get me a new phone. I sat the device on the bedside table and pushed to my feet. I gathered up my clothes then pulled Trevor's shirt over my head and tossed them into the clothes basket. MoJo was sprawled across the cold linoleum outside of my bedroom door when I stepped over him to enter the bathroom.

I propped my foot on the lid of the toilet and peeled off my old bandages before peering down at the stitches running along my calf. Pus was starting to seep through, which meant it was healing or it was infected. I cracked open the new bottle of peroxide sitting on the counter top and poured some down my leg. Bubbles and heat rose from the wound. The skin around the stitching was tight and bruised green. Lighter bruises dotted my ankles and wrists from how rough I had been bound to the seat. I stepped in front of the mirror over the sink and surveyed my face. All that was left of the blow Patty had taken on my right eye was a dark red smear across the top lid. The split in the middle of my bottom lip was already scabbed over and peeling off. The cut in my left shoulder from the bullet's graze was healing the same. I tore my eyes away from my frame and ran a hot shower.

The water burned against my wounds, but I stood under the stream and let the water pelt against my face for who knows how long until I thought I heard knocking at my front door. I pried back the shower curtain and stuck out my head to listen. I waited for the sound of keys in the door, but it never came. It wasn't the landlord. They knocked again. I cut my shower short and wrapped a white towel around my frame. They knocked a third time.

"I'm comin'!" I shouted. MoJo played in the damp footsteps I left behind as I hurried for the door. As soon as I unlocked the door, Michael held his arms open wide and grinned.

"Rise and shine, baby. It's a new day," he greeted with a slight stretch of his neck. I frowned against the bright sun contrasting behind him outside.

"What do you want?" I asked with a slow roll of my eyes.

"Let's get lunch or something, y'know, play catch up? Amanda's at the hospital with Tracey so you don't have to worry about either of them," he suggested.

"I already got plans," I blurted out before he got any more of his brilliant ideas out. His eyes fell.

"You're not even dressed," he scoffed. "What plans?"

He shouldered his way inside and closed the door behind himself. I started back to my bedroom to get dressed.

"I, uh, I gotta go back out to Blaine County," I tried with a cringe.

"What's out there? I'll go with you," he insisted. "After what happened-"

"I can definitely take care of myself. I'm just goin' to check on some friends."

"Friends?" he echoed. "Shit. Outside of Tracey, maybe Trevor, and myself, I didn't think you had-"

"You can go now. I ain't gonna listen to you talk 'bout me much more, Mike," I said with a sigh. I turned my back to him and pulled a tank top over my head.

"Lighten up, doll. It's a joke," he insisted. With a roll of my eyes, I stepped into a pair of denim shorts then slipped a short-sleeved, black and red flannel over my shoulders. He handed me my worn pair of flat ankle booties then a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

"No can do," I stepped into my shoes and tugged at the laces. "First, the phone. I can at least get my own smokes."

"Take one for the road, kid. Playing hard to get will get you nowhere. Life's too short."

I brushed past him and back into the bathroom. I popped open the medicine cabinet to start bandaging my leg.

"Life is too short says the man who has managed to live two lives. What are you and Trevor up to?"

"None of your business," he added curtly, rising a frown out of me. "So these friends of yours... They dangerous?"

"No, Michael. Not as dangerous as you and your friends, of course. I try not to associate with them types."

"Says the woman who killed a man not forty-eight hours ago."

"Watch it," I warned with a scowl. "Self-defense."

"Telling yourself that won't make it feel like any less of a burden," he claimed. I grabbed him by the collar of his suit and pulled him out of the bathroom behind me.

"I'm leavin' so you need to hit the road too," I started fumbling with my keys. I shoved the new phone in my back pocket. Michael shook the bag of cat food and MoJo began to rub against his ankles.

"He likes me. You should take notes," Michael said.

"He doesn't like you," I snatched the food away and poured a bit into the bowl. "He likes eatin', just like everybody else in the world. Outside. Now."

"Alright," he put up both his hands and lead the way to the door. I locked the place up behind me and started for the front of the complex.

"Sure you don't need any back up?" he asked as he popped open the driver's door of his car.

"Bye Michael," I remarked. "Send Amanda my hello."

He frowned and flipped me the bird as I climbed into my truck and reversed into traffic. I flipped him off right back before leaving him behind as I rounded a corner. I rummaged around in the center console until I picked up an empty cigarette carton.

"Shit," I muttered. A small headache was forming right between my eyes from Michael's nonsense. I was contemplating pulling into a gas station for more when the cell phone started buzzing in my back pocket. If it was Michael again, I swear... Another faintly familiar number danced on the screen. I warily sighed and pressed the green button.

"Hello?"

"Aye, its Franklin. Mike gave me ya number."

My heart leapt up into my throat. I hadn't seen or heard much of Franklin since the hospital. I had managed to put his girlfriend in danger. I wouldn't blame him if he wanted nothing to do with me.

"I'm sorry," I started up again. "If I had known those bikers-"

"I told you, I'm not looking for any apologies. It's done. We all got a past. I called cause I need a favor," he explained.

"I'm a lil busy right now, but what is it?" I drummed a thumb against the steering wheel cover. He could tell me again and again that we were cool, but I would not believe it until I felt it myself.

"Tracey is getting released this evening, but I've got a thing with Mike. Think you could pick her up and get her home in one piece?" he asked. I chewed my bottom lip and eyed the digital clock in the dash. It was just after noon. I did not plan on taking all day in the county.

"Uh, yeah. I can get her," I agreed.

"Cool. And I know I ain't the best person to be saying this, but stay outta trouble."

I laughed once. "Of course."

He ended the call and I immediately plopped the phone in the center console to focus on the road. My gut was in knots. I had killed King, Trevor had killed a bunch of his men, and there was no way another chapter of the Lost had made their way to the state yet. A few of the last chapter's henchmen had run off. Who knew where to.I had thought about calling Trevor to ask if he would travel with me. Knowing him, he was probably passed out somewhere or getting ready to contribute to whatever mess Franklin and Michael were about to get into. Hold on. Michael can't even pick up his own daughter from the hospital? He had been worried about Tracey and I running a muck in the city but he barely spent enough time in the picture as is? I frowned and shook my head. I was no saint but I was sure if I had kids that I would be there for them, no matter how old.

I focused my eyes on the tiny swirls of red dirt dancing across the lanes of Senora Freeway in front of me. I opened my windows and the hot air sent my hair flying. I was starting to feel less and less like a worn out zombie. I had eaten. I was healing. I had to sort out the work situation with Trevor sooner or later. I didn't have class until tomorrow. I would not be out here long, but I would be lying if I said I did not enjoy the dry, hot air. Los Santos was humid and sticky on days like this, days where there wasn't a single cloud in the light blue sky. Blaine County was an arid type of dry that could clear out your head if you had sense to breathe deep enough. I enjoyed it as much as I could. No, I wouldn't be out here long. I was just checking...

I took the off ramp branching from the freeway and started down Route 68, right for the Yellow Jack Inn. It hadn't been two days, but that was more than enough time if Patty and Paul were serious about getting out. I still wasn't completely sure about what I was doing or how the hell I was going to do it. All I knew was they needed help and I could give it, so I would.

Clouds of dirt kicked up behind my Cavalcade as I came to a stop in the dusty lot in front of the bar. A couple of Blaine County residents cupped hands over their eyes to peer at me beneath the blazing sun. I sent them a small nod before I made my way inside.

"You really gotta get that air conditioner fixed. It's a gotdamn sauna in here," I huffed. Janet looked up from the pint of beer she was refilling. Her entire face lit up when she saw me.

"I'll be. The hell you doin' back out here?" she asked. It was a genuine concern, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"Business to take care of," I took the bottled water she offered over the counter. I slowly crossed the bar and peered into the other room. Two dusty men were throwing darts at the board and an older woman was absentmindedly adjusting the billiard balls. A few tired looking men who looked like they spent all day working in the sun were seated at a table with several beer bottles littering the place. I turned back around to Janet.

"A man and woman come by and tell you I sent 'em? 'bout my age?" I asked, brow furrowed.

"Blond brother-sister duo, right? Not from 'round here?"

I nodded.

"Trevor picked them up an hour or so ago," she explained. I froze.

"He took 'em? Where?"

"His trailer, I assume. You know him, Jackie. He don't let on to what he don't want to," she claimed. A flood of anger and anxiety rushed my body. My fist tightened by my side, but I couldn't be mad at anyone. There was no stopping him but for all I knew, Trevor was actually taking care of... I shook my head. That was bullshit. They had been with the Lost and aside from me, Trevor abhorred everything to do about the group. If it weren't for me, he probably would have killed the two of them that night in Grapeseed.

"You can't save everyone," Janet stated.

"Don't have to," I remarked through pursed lips. "But I'm keepin' my word. He ain't got no right buttin' in."

She didn't try to stop me from storming from the bar. She would not have been able to anyway.

"Straitjacket! Hey!" one drunken man called. His pals laughed. I ignored the quip and crossed the lot for my truck.

"You done that fella out real good in that hospital? The fuck that poor guy do to ya? I heard ya tore out his tongue and left it on the floor!" the heckler continued. I stopped so hard in my tracks that a bit of sand wound up in my ankle boots. I turned on the heel of my foot and marched toward the group of men.

"This why y'all sit outside here, waitin' for some entertainment?" I growled. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands as I stopped a few feet shy of them.

"See?" a fella in overalls laughed and nudged the smaller guy beside him. "Told ya. The bitch is harmless. My pa said most of it's a bunch'a tall tales someone started to try 'n' take our minds off that fuckin' Philips feller."

"Buddy, if I really wanted to-"

"Save it, baby doll. How 'bout you bring us a couple refills?" he tossed his beer bottle at me and I caught it. Without a second thought, I cracked the bottle over my heel and waved the cracked end in his direction. Their laughter immediately cut short as I approached. His friends actually took a few steps back from him. He froze as I pressed the jagged bottle right up against a vein pulsing on the edge of his thick neck.

"If my to-do list won't already jam packed dealin' with that Philips feller you mentioned, I would show you who is a gotdamn baby doll," I seethed through my teeth. He swallowed hard then shoved me back a few feet. I started for him again, but was grabbed from behind by my shoulders.

"Ain't you got some cows that need milkin', Darrell? That girlfriend of yours is 'bout ready to birth them twins any day now and you ain't helpin' your family none by harassin' mine," came Janet's stern voice right by my ear. The man turned away to join his friends. Janet snatched the bottle from my hand and shoved me in the direction of my vehicle.

"You're already under a microscope out here. Save that temper for someone who deserves it. Go on and git," she suggested. I hesitated, watching Bobby and the others carefully glance over their shoulders at me.

"Fine," I rushed through my teeth then climbed into my truck. I turned over the engine and hurried from the lot, leaving her in the rear view mirror. She was right. I was so angry, I let myself get distracted. I was feeling more and more angry these days and that never went well. I tightened my grip on the wheel as I closed in on Sandy Shores. Anger led to destruction and that was the last thing I wanted. I could not let myself become a ball of flared tempers. Not like Trevor.

My eyes widened. I sounded like Michael, comparing myself to someone else and trying to pit myself as the better of the two. Trevor and I were more alike than I wanted us to be, but neither of us could help it. I huffed through my nose. No. No. Trevor killed people.

"Fuck," I muttered. I had too. Just one person, but still. It was...murder.

"Self defense," I corrected myself through my teeth. He was going to kill me. He had a gun in a hospital. He could have hurt anyone else too. I did what had to be done. I had to save myself.

Trevor's Bodhi wasn't parked outside of the raggedy trailer, but I snapped into park and hopped out anyway. If he were hiding, I was not taking any chances missing him.

"Trevor!" I called. A trash can in his yard noisily overturned and a stray dog dashed away then disappeared behind the neighboring liquor store. I skipped up the steps and rapped on the door. Of course it swung right open.

"Trevor?" I called again. I poked my head into his bedroom. Nothing. As I turned to push back outside, I saw a lighter and a spoon lying on the counter. A broken syringe lie on the ground not far from the mess. He was high again. Or worse. Patty was, maybe Paul too. Which would make this entire process much harder than it needed to be. I tensed the muscles in my arms to keep myself from punching a wall or breaking a cabinet. I pivoted on my heel and marched back outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pry in the broken blinds covering a window of the neighboring trailer. They snapped shut when my eyes narrowed.

"Jakowski!" I shouted. No one responded. I stepped into the sun and jogged over to the next yard as fast as my legs would take me. I heard the sound of glass breaking and someone shuffling around.

"I know you're in there, Jakowski. You don't go many places!" I announced.

"J-Just a second!" he called, but I had already shouldered in the front door. He stumbled back a couple steps and adjusted his glasses.

"Jackie! To what do I owe the pleasure?" he hastily stumbled over his words and backed himself against a wall. They did not call him Nervous Ron for nothing. I glanced back at Trevor's place over my shoulder.

"You watchin' me?" I asked. "Where's Trevor?"

"No. No, not you, per say. Not at all. I-I'm supposed to be watching Trevor's house, is all, and you happened to show up and..."

I crossed my arms over my chest and gave his small trailer a once over. There was no way Trevor had managed to hide here, especially with the siblings in tow.

"Where is he?" I pressed.

"The boss is working."

"Look, he's gonna hurt some people I'm tryin' to help," I explained. Ron stood there with his hands anxiously fidgeting in front of him. I sighed.

"If you know where he is, I'll leave you out of it. I'm smart. He might think I found him on my own. You ain't gettin' in any trouble. I promise," I extended a hand. His eyes glanced down at the gesture and he asked,

"This isn't a ruse?"

"I swear on my brother it ain't," I promised. He took a small step forward then shook my hand.

"I know how you and Samuel were, so I'll-"

I jerked my hand away from his with a scowl. "Don't get comfortable. Cut the shit. Where is he?"

"Stab City!" he revealed with a slight cower behind his hands after he raised them as though to protect from a swing to the face. He lowered them when he realized I wasn't going to strike him. "He had a man and woman with him. Said he wanted to show 'em something. That's all I know, I swear."

I turned back around and pushed out of the door.

"You're not gonna tell him I told you anything, right?" he called after me.

"I'm a woman of my word," I slammed the driver's side door behind me and took off around the corner. The sunlight danced on the rippling surface of the Alamo Sea. Usually, it was a serene sight but it only made me worry more. Too many people had used the sea to get rid of bodies. It would wash right out to the ocean if you did it right. What the fuck was Trevor up to?

I pressed down heavier on the gas pedal, weaving in and out past station wagons weighed down with luggage and golf carts carrying dusty men and women with dogs in their laps. The speedometer inched past eighty. I glanced back in the rear view as I departed Sandy Shores and started around the bend that eventually led up to the mountains. Too many people went missing out there too. It's not like the cops would do anything. The department out here was just as sorry as the one in the city. They were even slower, if that were possible.

Stab City came into view and I lowered my speed. If the Lost had already sent more, I did not want to come barreling in on their turf like I owned the place. I leaned over the steering wheel and scanned the gaps between trailers. Trevor's scarlet truck came into view a few meters away parked just outside the trailer I had lived in.

"No," I let out barely above a whisper, snapping the gear shift into park and hurrying from the vehicle. I kicked up dirt as I sprinted past Trevor's truck and my old trailer. Trevor stood with a 9mm in his grasp. Paul and Patty were kneeling on the ground in front of Sam's headstone with their hands on top of their heads.

"Say you're sorry! I won't ask again!" Trevor barked.

"We didn't do anything. W-We don't know what you're talking about or who this is!" Paul declared.

"It's my brother," I marched right up to Trevor and struck him across the face with an open palm. The crack echoed out over the Alamo Sea. My other fist caught him in the chin. Surprised, he stumbled backward and the handgun fired. Paul threw his arms around his sibling and covered her as the shot rang out.

"Are you fuckin' nuts? You brought 'em HERE?" I seethed. He dropped the gun to cover his face as I took another swing at him. My eyes were burning from tears. My teeth hurt from being clenched together so tight. I continued swinging at him in a blinded rage. My nails grazed his face, rising red welts against his tanned skin. One of my fists connected with his nose. He grabbed my wrists and shoved me back, but I came right back at him, furious.

"They have to pay their debt. They ain't gettin' away with what they did to you. They took away your family," he hissed through his teeth. His wicked grin was stained a faint red from the blood leaking out of his nose. He started for them but I grabbed his shirt. He gripped my shoulders and flung me to the dirt. My already injured leg throbbed when I tried to stand, so I got my grips around his left ankle to slow his unsteady gait toward the duo again. Raging county loon. I thought I had seen him fucked up and out of his mind at the club, but this was different. He was high and angry and downright delusional. My mind thought back to King and the hospital room. He had to be stopped. If I could just talk him down before this got out of hand...

"They ain't know Samuel! They got no history here! They can start new. Leave 'em alone," I pleaded. He stopped dragging me through the dirt and cast his wild eyes down in my direction.

"Start new?" he repeated my words back to me. "Jesus Christ. You sound just like Mikey. There are stones to be cast."

"This ain't that and you know it. You hurt 'em and I will make sure you get a plot out in this desert just like Sam."

Trevor turned his head skyward and let out a maniacal laugh then jerked me upright by the collar of my shirt. "Straitjacket, you don't have the guts or the firepower."

"I do."

Both our heads turned to see Paul standing with Trevor's gun pointed directly at him. My heart began to beat hard in my ears. I was mad when I said it, but having Trevor dead was not what I wanted. Too much was happening at once. I felt like I was right back in the beginning, sleeping on a pool table, and avoiding the sound of motorcycles all together.

"Paul, no," I warned. Trevor dropped me then faced Paul head on. I stood in the space between Trevor and the weapon.

"You were just threatening this guy. Now you're defending him?" Paul asked in a puzzled tone. I suppressed a growl.

"It's complicated. Just quit. You don't hafta handle it this way," I urged. I braced myself against Trevor's frame as he took another step forward.

"Paul..." I warned again.

"Paaaw-ul!" Trevor mocked.

"Move!" Paul directed at me.

"You're only gon' make it worse," I thought about Franklin and Michael. "His friends will come after you."

"This fuck killed my friends-"

"The Lost won't your friends!" I recited for a hundredth time.

"He doped up Patty and he was going to kill us. Get out of the way," he ordered. Trevor shoved me out of the way and lunged at the man. I was in the dirt again when the shot rang out. It cracked through the fresh air and echoed over the sea. I heard a grunt and the sound of a body hitting the ground.

I stayed on all fours, my bare knees burning against the warm clay and my fingers tightening around weeds poking through the dry, cracked surface. The club would be shut down. The girls would be out of work. I would be out of work. Starting over, yet again. Ron would not know what to think. Neither would Wade. My name would start brewing up a thousand rumors out here again. Franklin and Michael would find out sooner or later. Everyone always did. They had their differences, but they would still be pissed. We had our differences but he had helped me keep a job and saved my life when I needed it. My eyes were burning for a different reason now. I had lost someone else.

"Are you fuckin' cryin'?"

I nearly hurt myself trying to roll over, eyes damp and wide.

"Off yer ass. Get up," Trevor quietly ordered. He held the gun in his hand now. Paul was laid flat on his back on the ground. My eyes darted back and forth between his body and Trevor.

"He didn't... You... How could you?" I stammered.

"Relax. It's full of blanks," he claimed then pointed the nose of the gun right at me and squeezed the trigger several times in a row. I winced as every shot sounded off. Empty shells littered the ground. I was unscathed. Trevor's face was tight. His eyes were losing their sheen. He was losing his high. He used the bottom of his shirt to swipe at the blood drying across his top lip.

"No one was dying today. I just had a couple lesson I wanted to teach. Show tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum here that they gotta respect certain people," he explained. I scrambled across the dirt to Paul's side.

"He's fine," Trevor came over and nudged him with his boot. "Got a fist to the face, but that's what happens when you do stupid shit."

Sure enough, a red mark was forming on his cheekbone where blood vessels were breaking and bruising just above the cut I had given him, but he was breathing. I gave his shoulder a shake and he quietly groaned.

"You're an ass," I told Trevor. The shock was wearing off and I remembered I had things to do. I gripped Paul's denim jacket and pulled him to sit up.

"Where...?" he muttered and winced as the pain must have rushed to his face. His gaze landed on Trevor and he froze.

"My truck. Get in. Now," I demanded. I helped him to stand then pushed him away. He stumbled over his feet, eyes still on Trevor, before he disappeared around my trailer. I eyed Patty. She was leaning against a rusting van, her hands in the pockets of her pants. Her eyes were far away. I was thankful she was lucid and not manic like someone I had had enough of for one day.

"Patty?"

"I'm ready to go," she calmly said. "Where're we going?"

I took her elbow and lead her away.

"Away from this place," I glanced at Sam's headstone then at Trevor and shook my head. His idea of teaching a lesson was crossing a line. But they were okay. Both of them.  
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What a doozy! For all my readers who have also been waiting for an update on my other GTA fic, A Grand Theft, your patience shall be rewarded soon. :)


	17. Chapter 17

Paul had been shooting me short glances since I had started the three of us on the road back to Los Santos. Ignoring him was easy. It was Patty I constantly found myself glancing back at in the mirror. I was worried about her. Too much could happen. She was spaced out in the backseat. Paul had buckled her into a seatbelt, but she was sprawled across the entire row of cushions, eyes closed and mouth incoherently mumbling. Her cheeks were wet with tears that escaped her closed lids. A slurred "sorry, so sorry" creaked out of her mouth every couple of minutes. I hoped she would come down soon or would remain easy to wrangle through the peak of her high. Weaning her off the drug completely would be hard enough as is, but if she wanted my help, she had to be clean.

My hands were still trembling slightly from the blows I had struck against Trevor in an attempt to rid myself of anger and defuse him. Trevor... I shook my head and focused my eyes on the winding road ahead of us. The time would come when everything would catch up to him. There was so much I wanted to say to him, scream at him, make him say, whatever.

"Patty?" I turned off the staticky radio and spoke up. I watched in the rear view mirror as she continued lulling to herself. "Patty?"

"She's not exactly tuned in to our frequency," Paul grumbled, the first words he had said to me since the big confrontation in the trailer park.

"How much did she take?" I asked. I needed to know how long I had to watch her or if I should just drop her off at a hospital or rehabilitation center now.

"She didn't TAKE any," Paul snapped. "He forced the syringe in her."

I shook my head back and forth. "I get it. You're pissed, but I know Trevor. He mighta hated The Lost but he ain't completely FORCED no drugs in her. She had to had wanted to, so she asked or-"

"Alright! She fucking asked for some while he was shooting up himself. That what you want to hear? My sister is a fiend and your friend got her high and was going to... He was..." Paul's anger began to fizzle out and he finally began to relax in the passenger seat. "So they were blanks, but still. The shock value was enough. He didn't have to do what he did."

"The gun trick was too far," I agreed as I flexed my fingers around the steering wheel. "But Patty got herself in bed with the H when she asked for it. She knows what she is doin'."

Paul's entire face bunched into a grimace. "'scuse me? She's been trying to get off it for a while. You don't know what the fuck that's like! You don't get to talk about her like that."

Paul's thoughtless words bounced around my head. I drew in a deep breath as we closed in on the hills north of Vinewood.

"I could be an asshole and put you out right here, let you get lost and wind up attacked by a wild cat in these mountains... Or I could take your ungrateful ass right back to the county to blister up, dry out, and die," my voice quivered slightly and my vision blurred with a dampness I hated. I clicked on my hazard lights and whisked us onto the shoulder of the road. I snapped into Park and continued watching Patty in the mirror before turning to Paul. My mouth opened and closed several times, unsure of where to start.

"From now on..." I pointed a finger and waited until the quake in my voice faltered. "You watch what you say to me."

In this moment, I wanted nothing more than to go back to the instance I found out Trevor had picked them up from the bar so I could turn right back around and go home. Forget about them. Let them fend for themselves. I knew it would never happen either way. I had not made the trip for nothing and I always kept my word. I was just hurting and hurt people always hurt people.

"Ya got Patty and Patty's got you. That grave Trevor had you and her bowed over? That's all I got of my brother. He was an addict and he had a shit ton of problems, but he was still my brother and Johnny K and his chapter took Sam away from me. That's why there ain't no more Lost MC to me. Fuck them!" I swallowed to calm myself and exhaled through my nose. Paul just sat and listened, quiet.

"And this ain't Liberty City. You don't run shit over here. You don't know a thing. I will help you with what I can. After what you tried to do to me, you're lucky yer even alive in my vicinity right now. I'm tryna help the two of ya change like I did, but don't go disrepectin' me and what I have or what I do, 'cause Straitjacket Jackie is still in here somewhere. You hear me?"

Paul's fists were tight in his lap, but he didn't say anything. He just nodded once and switched his eyes out of the window. I changed gears and put us back on the road. I was getting uncomfortable. This was a stretch. Trying to help someone other than myself for once left room for more failure, conflict, or disappointment than I wanted to deal with. I swiped at my damp eyes, hiding the tears before they fell. I had stopped crying over what had happened with me quite some time ago, but now these wounds felt as fresh as the ones on my leg and arm now. I saw too much of me and Sam in Paul and Patty. It hurt too much so suddenly. I had been playing it safe for time and now I was back in it over my head.

The car was engulfed in a stiff silence until we reached the edge of the county in the hills, which gave us a decent view down at the city glistening beneath the sun. Paul's eyes went wide and he sat up straighter in his seat, tugging at his jacket.

"Where are we?" Patty gripped the back of my seat to pull herself upright. She swayed as we moved.

"Los Santos," I stated. "Also known as Hell on Earth."

"Hell?" she shrieked, bright eyes growing wide. "I don't want to go to Hell!"

"It's not really Hell," Paul interjected with forced enthusiasm. "We're starting over, Pat."

I recalled the feelings I had felt when the Dashound I had caught into the city came bumbling down the Palomino Freeway. The skyscrapers had come into view against the moon and stars in the sky and the sheer terror dancing on my nerves had me throwing up in an alley as soon as I got off the musty bus. I had been completely alone. No sport utility vehicle escort. No one to keep the maniacs away from me. No one to guide me through the stray animals and working folks infesting streets after the sun went down.

"What are we going to do?" Paul asked.

"How much money you got on ya?" I inquired. He fished a wallet out of his jeans.

"Hundred twenty-two dollars and a dime bag of weed."

"Alright. Not what I expected," I drummed a thumb against the steering wheel. "Got a bank account?"

"No."

"Big surprise there. Alright," I changed lanes and started for Alta. "You and Patty are gonna have to stay with me."

"One hundred twenty-two dollars can get us at least two days in a hotel."

I scoffed. "You want me to drop you off at one so you can see?"

He didn't respond.

"Trust me. I ain't tryna screw you over. Anything below two hundred ain't even gettin' you one night in a single bedded room at a motel. Welcome to LS," I chimed. "I slept on bus stop benches for three nights before a married couple was nice enough to take me in and I found work. They run a sex shop on the boulevard, if you ever find yourself on the boulevard."

"I guess now isn't the time to ask for tour. What kind of work is in this city?" he asked, eyes glued out of the window. I was surprised he didn't cringe or pry at the mention of the sex shop couple. They had confused me for quite some time and had wound up accidentally introducing me to Leon.

"Actin', prostitution, some sort of public sanitation, customer service like waitin' tables, cleanin' up after other folks. There are people out here that even make cash just stalkin' and takin' photos of celebrities," I explained.

"Which of those do you do?"

I sighed. "Customer service."

"Where?"

"A pretty exclusive store," I answered with a sigh. "I'm sure you'll find it once you're settled in the city good. Until then, you gotta find work."

"Like what?"

"You focus on gettin' sobered up," I directed at Patty after she spoke up. "There will be work for you to find once that is out of the way. Paul, I recently passed up on a gig at a hotel. I'm sure there might still be a slot open for you to apply. I'll drop you off up there tomorrow."

"In what?"

"What?" I glanced at him.

"We don't have anything. We left most of our belongings in Liberty City and what little we did bring is in the desert. I can't show up to an interview in ripped jeans and a oiled up leather vest."

I huffed and squeezed my hands around the wheel. "Alright. Use some of that money ya got. There's a clothin' store around the corner from my place. You can find somethin' for you and your sister that will hold you over 'til you're on your own feet. But I need at least fifty dollars if you wanna stay."

"Whatever you say. So, what about your friend?"

"Who? Trevor?"

Paul nodded.

"He seems nice," Patty chimed and we both frowned.

"What about him? I'm sure you ain't gotta worry about him for a little while. I got my point across," I glanced down at my bloodied, slightly swollen knuckles.

"And if he comes back? You defended the shithead back there. Do I gotta worry about you switching teams and coming for me and my sister?" Paul grumbled. I scoffed.

"Me and Trevor workin' together against you is the last thing you should ever worry about. My word is my bond. Besides, I'm the one puttin' my head on the choppin' block when I should be worried about you callin' up some more of your Lost pals and snatchin' me up again as bait."

"No, I don't think I want to bait him anymore. I just... I just want Patty to be alright," he looked back at his sister. "If push comes to shove, I can work enough to get us tickets back to LC and we can get outta your hair."

"I won't object to that, but take it one day at a time. You gotta get the job and stay alive first."

"Stay alive?" he echoed. I laughed slightly.

"I'm just bein' dramatic. It ain't all bad. Just avoid dark alleys and once you have it, don't carry too much money on you. It ain't as bad as life with the Lost."

"What did you do for them?"

"Little bit of everything they asked. Started out stealin' old bikes and trucks for parts. I was a secretary for a long while till my brother started stealin' the funds I was supposed to watch over. I got my ass beat for him for a while then I put together an old dirt bike and became a runner. I made drop-offs and pick-ups all over the desert. Every blue moon, I would go with a group of fellas and start a staged fight with the buyer to confuse 'em so we'd make off with their money and keep our product."

"Did you ever...you know, do anything sexual?"

"Couple times," I answered with a stiff shrug. "Guy whipped his bumpy cock out in front of me and when I told him no, I wound up havin' to get my jaw wired shut 'cause he shattered it. 'ccordin' to him I won't usin' my mouth for nothin' useful."

I looked over at him and eyed the scab on his cheek. He noticed.

"I'm sorry for what I did, well, what I tried to do to you in that barn. I wasn't myself that night."

"I've had worse. I hit you good so I reckon we're even. Just don't mention it again."

"I was drunk. I have never done anything like that before. My sister had to do shit like that for guys I called my brothers. I hated seeing it and just knowing it was happening, sometimes in the same room I was in..." his fists tightened again.

"You ever kill anyone?" I spoke up, trying to change the subject.

"Two guys, yeah."

"Who am I kiddin'? That's more than me. You'll do fine in the city. What happened?"

"Our chapter in LC was making money selling coke to cops who would plant the coke on crime scenes and criminals for more cash. Some of our boys were skimming off the incoming coke shipments and selling for their own individual profit, so I got ordered to sneak into their apartment when I knew they were high or sleeping and cut their throats."

I winced and ran my fingers over my windpipe. "Does it bother you? Knowin' what you did?"

"Every now and then. What about you?"

"Before King came along, the most I done did to anybody was knock 'em unconscious. Sometimes I still hear King's death gurgle as I'm driftin' off into my sleep, but I did what I had to do to stay alive, so I guess that's that," I quickly let out. "I just wonder if that makes us bad as Johnny K."

"Are we almost there?" Patty interjected.

"Yeah. We're right around the corner," I turned to Paul. "I gotta go pick up a friend from the hospital. I ain't gonna take long. Can I trust you two at my house alone?"

"You got any food?" Patty asked.

"Check the kitchen for whatever you need. I'll be back."

I pulled up alongside the curb. I slipped the key to my door off my key chain and handed it over to Paul.

"Apartment 21. Make sure you lock it up behind you and don't go openin' the door for anybody. I'm takin' a chance I ain't ever taken before. Don't let me down. You only got one shot," I explained. He formed a fist around the key and scratched his head.

"I don't really know what to say. I appreciate it."

He hopped from the vehicle and helped Patty out of her seat.

"Wait. Where're you going?" she asked me.

"C'mon. She'll be back," Paul ushered her. He glanced back at me over his shoulder and the two started up the walk way.

"I won't be long!" I called before pulling away. As I merged into traffic, my cell phone started ringing. Trevor's name danced across the screen. I scoffed and silenced the call. I would deal with him another time. I was tired. My eyes were tired from driving all day. The hospital wasn't far, but God only knew how much Tracey had to say or complain about all the way back to her house. My mind was racing a hundred miles per hour already worrying about the duo staying at my apartment.

The phone in the cup holder beeped from a single text message. Once I was at a red light, I checked the device. Now it was a text from Trevor. Need 2 talk. Cum 2 club.

"You're damn right we need to talk," I said through gritted teeth as I sent back a short 'Busy. Be there later.'. When I pulled up outside the emergency room entrance, Tracey was already seated on a bench outside with her belongings. My phone beeped once more. C u then.

Tracey popped open the passenger side door and eased her way into the seat. I tucked away my phone and flashed a grin her way. Things were still unclear between us. I was worried she would relentlessly blame me for what happened and for what I did. In her eyes, I couldn't be any better than her father.

"So the people who trashed my car and kidnapped you... You know them?" she didn't waste any time getting to the point. I waited until we were away from the hospital and flowing with traffic to answer.

"Knew them. Kinda."

"Are you into crazy shit like my Uncle Trevor?"

I shook my head. "I used to be. I got away, but some new pricks found me. It's okay, though. It's handled and you're doing better and so am I."

She somehow managed to roll her eyes despite the light bruising across the top of her cheek bones and once-broken nose.

"Doing better is a total sham of a lie. I have to find a way to pay for my hospital bills and a new car. I want my own place too. I need to get away from everything and everyone."

"I did not mean to drag you into anything dangerous, Tracey. I swear. I thought I had made a heck of a clean escape, but some things got through the cracks, but I promise. I swear to you it ain't happenin' again."

"I've heard that one before. You owe me."

"I owe you?" I echoed with a frown. I was tempted to pull over and let her out right here, right now. "I'm doin' this as a favor to your dad already."

"I mean, you owe me for what you put me through. Sleeping with my dad, almost dying and getting kidnapped-"

"You ain't almost die! They won't even worried 'bout you. It was me they were after. You woke up in a hospital. I woke up tied to a chair in a barn!"

"Look, we could go tit for tat all day, but I'm tired. I just wanna take a bath and lay in my bed, but you do owe me," she insisted. There was something in her voice. A curiosity. A favor.

"Alright," I let out a deep breath to calm down. "What would you like?"

"A job."

I chuckled. "Yeah? Me too."

"At the Vanilla Unicorn."

"For what!" I bellowed.

"I wanna make my own money. I wanna be sexy and hot-"

"It ain't about bein' hot and sexy. Trust me. You don't want that. Ain't nothin' sexy 'bout the way I talk or how I want to punch the lights out on half the fuckwit customers who come through that place. It's about bein' what those men and women want as soon as they walk through them doors."

Her eyebrows rose slightly when I mentioned women.

"Yeah, them too. Long as they got cash, they can get a good time," I explained.

"See? That's so...exotic," she sighed.

"If that's yer definition of exotic, you gotta get out more. I ain't puttin' you onto no strip club. 'specially not a joint run by your uncle. I don't think he'd be on board for his niece to shake her ass on his stage."

"But I need the money," she insisted. I momentarily closed my eyes and exhaled hard, trying to bottle in my growing frustration. I didn't open my mouth again until I had pulled into the driveway of her Rockford Hills mansion.

"What happened with your boyfriend or-or Michael? They stop givin' you money or somethin'?"

"No!" she cried out. "I just want my own."

A tantrum was on the brink of developing and I really wasn't up for seeing it. I was all for her being independent and standing on her own, but there was a better way to go about it.

"What happened to your interview at that hotel? Did you go?"

"Well I didn't want to work there if you weren't working there," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. I clapped a hand to my forehead and rubbed my face. I didn't want her making important decision that revolved around me. I wouldn't be good for her. I was good to little to no folk. That was why I stuck to myself.

"I know there's a lot going on right now, in and outside of your head. You have a family and a boyfriend who support you and everything you do. Even if you couldn't get a job, your dad has steady money. You don't hafta be of any service to someone besides waitin' tables or takin' to-go orders or somethin' small-time. You can get a good job. You ain't gotta shake your ass or sleep with married men to make your rent. You're worth more than that, Tracey."

"And you're not?"

Her question struck a hollow point inside my head and bounced around. I had thought about it before. Underneath the empowerment I felt having people ogle me and the other girls, then pay us for making them feel good for a couple of minutes of out the day, I felt the need for more. I kept it under wraps. Kept myself humble. Kept myself safe and comfortable. It was familiar now so there wasn't a need to change. I had a place to live and a car, a cat and a friend.

"Are you not worthy of a day job where people are allowed to smile at you and tell you 'thank you' or that you're doing good?" she scoffed out a slight laugh and shook her head. "Or are you too worried about your pride and your rugged past that you don't give a shit about yourself?"

"You were just beggin' me to help you become a stripper. You don't get to lecture me about what I'm doin'," I snapped back. "You want help, you can get it on your own. You have the means."

"You keep on feeling sorry for yourself because you know what? You're absolutely right, Jackie. I have a boyfriend and a family that give a shit about me. What do you have? A couple hillbillies in the county? Newsflash - they tried to kill you out there. Who else? Michael? The world's greatest dad? Good fucking luck with that one sister, because he'll leave you just like he always does to people he claims to give a shit about. It's what he's good at," she seethed.

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me? Your dad left everything behind so that his family could... You know what?" I relaxed in my seat and put up my hands. "Just go. Go on with your perfect life and leave me the hell alone."

"Screw you, asshole," Tracey huffed, forcing open her door and hopping out. As she slammed it shut, the front door to her house opened and out stepped Franklin and Michael engaged in conversation. Tracey let out a frustrated shriek and pushed past the two then disappeared inside.

"What's going on?" Franklin asked.

"Ask your girlfriend. I got things to do," I answered with a shake of my head.

"I'mma hit y'all up another time," Franklin announced before turning on his heels and also disappearing into the house. Michael jogged down the pathway and leaned into my window.

"You look stressed. What'd Tracey do?" he asked. I leaned back in my seat with a sigh and shook my head back and forth.

"It ain't what Tracey's done. It's what she wants to do," I squeezed the bridge of my nose and closed my tired eyes.

"And what's that? It's gotta be bad. She's got you looking like me on my worst days."

I looked over at him as he slightly pouted, eyebrows furrowed and blue eyes wide as they watched every move I made.

"Here," he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. "You look like you need one."

"I need a lot of things," I airily let out. "Amanda home?"

"No. Why?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Get in."

"What?"

I nodded at the passenger seat. "Get in before I change my mind."

He narrowed his eyes at me and cocked his head off to the side.

"Where you taking me?"

"A motel, a hotel, wherever. I've got a few minutes."

"Enough time for me," he said, cracking a grin and hurrying around my truck.


	18. Chapter 18

I rolled off of Michael's lap and collapsed across the thick backseat of my SUV.

"I thought I knew all your tricks," he groaned out as he rubbed his sweaty, bright pink cheeks with the back of his hand. "I've never been more wrong."

As I waited for my heart rate to slow down, I laid on my back and looked up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. I needed the release, to finally let myself give in to an urge for once. I would more than likely hate myself for it later, but I didn't care right now. I couldn't. It felt too good. Michael pinched my bare hip and I shifted my eyes down to watch him swipe at a bunch of cherry red scratches I had left along his shoulders. A quiet laugh escaped me and I chewed my bottom lip.

"Sorry 'bout that. Just goin' through hell right now. Had some emotions to let out."

Michael leaned over and gripped my sore neck in a much more gentle way than he had just a couple of minutes ago. He noticed my wince and lightly ran a knuckle of his rough hand along my skin then placed a gentle kiss on my lips. "Well I hope I helped you feel better."

"A little," I took a drag on the already lit cigarette he offered.

"So, what was up with Tracey? I don't think I have ever seen her that pissed at someone that wasn't me."

"Really? Now?" I complained as I wriggled my shorts up to my waist. He looked around as he fastened the belt of his pants and adjusted his wrinkled shirt.

"You know of any better time?"

I scoffed. "Maybe let me wash the taste of your dick out of my mouth before we start talkin' about your kids?"

"This was your idea. You were so wound up, we didn't even make it to a hotel," he criticized. I shrugged. He was not wrong. I had been so agitated and amped that I went looking for a quick fix only to whip us into a mostly empty parking garage across from the movie theater in West Vinewood. Granted I had said I had had enough of him and the conflicts he brought, he had indeed been a good de-stressor. Now, everything was coming right back at me. For fucks sake.

"Tracey is lookin' for work," I stated, ready to unload. He nodded slowly.

"Yeah? She and I talked about that already. She's going to start at some hotel."

I shook my head and pursed my lips.

"She changed her mind. She wants to work with me." I sat up and waited for the lightbulb over his head to come on. He blinked a few times then exhaled smoke and broke into a fit of coughing that shook the car.

"She wants to strip? For fucks... No. Oh god! Hell no. She's better than that-"

"Hey!"

"I'm sorry, Jackie, but that ain't happening! Not with my kid," he fumed. "Tracey can't even dance. She doesn't need a bunch of slime balls watching her and...and- Well, fuck. Look at me and you."

I ignored his jab and focused on the bigger problem. "Michael, I am just as against it as you are. That's why she yelled at me and ran in the house like she did. I told her I won't helpin'. I'm hopin' you can talk some sense into her, y'know, as her father and all? Do your job."

"Do my job?" he echoed. "I've been doing that and everything I can for her, Jim, and Amanda over the past two decades. Tracey wants a job, she will get an honest one."

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "I get that. Just help her out a little longer before she does somethin' stupid. I doubt Trevor would let her in his club anyway, but she's gonna need some of her daddy's attention to change her mind. I'm up to my elbows in everyone else's shit and my own - I can only do but so much, but I ain't tryin' to look up and see her shakin' her ass in the Vanilla Unicorn or any of the other clubs 'round here. Did you know she ran a phone sex hotline at one point?"

"No," his face fell. "I didn't."

"Right from home, she said. In her room."

"Alright, alright," he winced then groaned again. "I-I don't even want to think about it. Fine. I'll figure out something."

He finished buttoning up his shirt and popped open the side door. The humid outside air was welcoming compared to the stuffiness in my car. I grabbed his shoulder.

"Where are you goin'?"

"I helped you get your rocks off, so isn't this the part where we argue about me neglecting my family for you or you wanting to go back to brooding alone or whichever one of us can do the most dangerous shit in a day's time, then we ignore each other for a few until I show up on your doorstep, shitfaced, or you call me up after you get off work at two or three in the morning? Right?"

I rolled my eyes so hard that I made myself dizzy. "I'm so sick of you."

"Bite me," he cracked before sliding out of my truck. I climbed in the driver's seat and rolled down the window.

"Was I right...or was I right?" he asked.

"Bite me," I shot back with a smirk. He leaned through the window and kissed me. I pulled back as my phone vibrated in the cup holder.

"Mm. Who is it?" he asked.

"Trevor," I answered after sucking my teeth.

"If he asks, you haven't seen me," he uttered before starting down the alley.

"If it's not one thing, it's another," I muttered, snatching up the device. "What?"

"Where are you?" came his gruff voice.

"I told you I was comin' to see you later. I'm busy," I replied.

"It'll take all'a ten minutes then I'm outta ya hair. C'mon," he rumbled.

"Fine," I turned the key in the ignition so he could hear the engine start before he got himself worked up more than he already had been a few hours ago. "I'm on the way."

I hung up and pulled out of the alley and into the evening traffic. Everyone was commuting home from work. Everyone had their own little bubble, their own little circle of problems. I could only hope Paul and Patty were staying out of sight and were trying to put together some sort of plan in their heads. Well, I could hope Paul was. Patty's head was a meth-filled mess. I could only hope she would be sober sooner than later. If Paul could ace the interview and get a shift at the Von Crastenburg, it would be a start. I did not need the two of them over-staying their welcome. My landlord was already watching me with a close eye. Winding up on the streets again was the last thing on my to-do list. If the two of them could just do what I had done, there would be nothing to it. At least they had somewhat of a guide through it. Sober up, get a real job-

I scoffed and drummed a thumb against the leather of the steering wheel. A real job. I was technically unemployed, however I provided for myself, but here I was already trying to put the duo on a higher tier than myself. Maybe Tracey was right. I could do more. I scoffed again. Yeah, right. Michael or one of his kin being right about something. It sounded preposterous. But preposterous might as well had become my middle name at this point in time. So much was happening. Staying put was my safest bet. And I had exams coming up, of which none I had studied for.

The pink and purple lights of the familiar building were already starting to flicker on as the sun dipped belong the rooftop of many buildings. Trevor was outside speaking to the bouncer at the entrance when I left my car parked and made my way across the dirty lot.

"Nice seeing you," the bouncer greeted. I nodded.

"Get your cordials out the way later. Me and her gotta talk," Trevor mumbled, pushing into the building. I shook my head and pushed past the man then disappeared inside. Trevor marched through his establishment, shoulders tight and strides long. I had the urge to hit him again for what had happened. I hurried to keep up with his movements, hoping to stay out of sight from any of the working girls. I admit, I had grown to miss them a bit, but I did not feel like talking to any of them right now.

Trevor held open the door to his office so we could step inside then locked it behind us.

"You still busy?"

"I am."

"How much time you got?"

"I got a few minutes," I said with a sigh. I took a seat on the couch and let my gaze pierce into him. He plopped down into his computer chair. The bruising I had left on his face was filling in and suited him. I crossed my arms over my chest then crossed one leg over the other in front of me.

"So...?" I broke the few seconds of silence between us.

"Gonna apologize?"

"Oh, fuck you. Me? Apologize? I won't the one tryin' to scare some sense in folks who don't know down from up."

"Don't know down from up? Jackie, eh, you feelin' alright? 'Cause I reckon you've forgotten that those are the same fucks who were just workin' alongside The Lost to string your ass up in a barn," he hissed in disgust. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I gently clenched my teeth and spoke with my hands, trying to avoid growing any more irritated.

"I done already talked to 'em. Those two didn't know no better and they done apologized. I'm just tryin' to help 'em out where I can and pullin' a gun full'a blanks out on 'em right beside my brother's grave, mind you, won't gonna help anybody. Not to mention, you doped up his sister. You owe 'em both, AND me, an apology."

"I'm sorry."

"For?" I urged with an impatient wave of one of my hands.

"Fuck, Jackie. I'm already offering you yer job back. You got a couple regular customers that miss you already. Now you're just askin' for too much," he complained, leaning back in his desk chair and rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands.

"Bullshit I'm askin'. You already owe me. Remember? When you tried to blackmail me with some meth-induced, half-assed thought out plan about takin' over the city? LSPD woulda been glad to kill us both if we ever got caught. How do you think I felt? Quittin' my only source of income 'cause my boss is an asshole?"

"Alright maybe I was wrong in approachin' a lady like you in the way that I did. I apologize," he said, his surly expression softening. "But can you imagine?"

He used his legs to roll the chair across the room and close the gap between us. He took a swig of his beer and planted his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang limply in front of him.

"Imagine the cash to be made when TPI takes off..." he traced a small circle on my kneecap with his pointer finger. I looked away from his worn hands and met his gaze. His eyes were bright, but less wild. He was talking some sense now. Greased wheels were turning.

"What would be my cut?" I asked, curious. "What would I be doin'?"

"I got a hangar and a dune buggy. You're familiar with the stuff - run guns and crank. I get a call and what I can't get done myself, you will do. All for ten percent," he quickly answered and I chuckled right in his face. He didn't flinch.

"You're crazy if you think I'd risk my life for anything under forty," I responded.

"Fifteen percent," he said with a wince and a clench of his jaw. "Ron's apart of the team and that's already way more than what he makes."

"Fuck off. Forget it. I'll reapply at the Von Crastenburg before I touch anything belongin' to your grubby ass," I said, standing again. His hand shot out and he gently grasped my wrist to stop me from leaving.

"Alright. Fifteen," he quietly growled. "And tomorrow, you start a part-time shift workin' the door of the club until you're healed over. You can do your homework or whatever and take part in the opportunity to punch any unruly customer in the face before tossing them out on their ass."

I leaned forward and bore my gaze right into his. "I could go to jail, or worse. Twenty-five."

"TWENTY percent, but if you wuss out during any of these runs, you may as well put together your resume and tear open some newspapers 'cause you're outta here," he painfully agreed. "I ain't got room for failure."

"Yeah? And you think I do?" I questioned, smug.

"Go on. Ain't you got things to do?" he inquired, waving me toward the door. He laid down across the couch and covered his eyes in the crook of his elbow.

"Don't work too hard," I sarcastically bid.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll call you."

I was starting to feel better about the direction I was taking. I would have money coming in soon. I would not enjoy sitting on my ass, playing role call and security. And I had not the slightest idea when he would call for my help, but at least I had some kind of plan in action to keep my bills paid and stay in school. I just had to stay out of trouble and make sure Paul and Patty got their feet in the door.

As I passed through the dim club, I saw Infernus swiveling around the pole onstage. Kelly Rowland's "Work" blared through the speakers, making it hard to hear much from anyone unless you leaned in close enough. Fufu was standing at the bar, waving her hands as she spoke to the equally scantily clad bartender. I looked to my right where Wade was usually seated. The booth was empty. He must still be staying with Ron. Things would find a way to get back to normal. They had to. If I could get everything back on track, everything would be okay.

"You got this," I muttered to myself as I stepped back outside and drew in a deep breath of fresh air. Work, money, school. Work, money, school. The wheel would keep turning... So long as I had cigarettes to keep me from biting off anyone's head. I popped open the glove compartment and the center console in search of my sticks then huffed. I should have slipped Michael's pack out of his pocket while I had him in my car.

Instead of going straight home, I drove up an extra block behind my apartment complex and pulled into the outlet mall parking lot. The motion sensor over the glass doors chimed as I entered the cheap corner store.

"Nice night, isn't it? How are you?" the clerk greeted me as I loped through the small building and approached the counter.

"Yeah, nice. A pack of Redwood cigarettes," I requested. The clerk fetched one pack and scanned it. I plucked a new lighter from a box and sat it beside the cigarettes.

"Is that all?" the young man asked with a slight eye roll. I loved the customer service industry. His name tag was crooked and the tape spelling out ANDY was peeling off.

"Nah," I retorted. "Hold on, Andy." I stepped away from the counter and disappeared among the snack aisles across the store. I was rifling through bags of chips when the door chimed again.

"Give me the money. All the money in the register. Give me!"

"Hey sweetheart. How old are you?" a woman purred.

"I'm nineteen. Lady, what do you need? I go on break in five minutes, but I can't take it if customers are in the store," the clerk griped.

"You want some company on your break?" she continued. I peered around the end counter shelf and gasped so hard that I choked.

"What kind of company?" the boy asked, his eyes lowering.

"You know what kind-"

I grabbed Patty by the shoulder and pulled her away from the employee as she went to pull him in close by the shirt.

"Don't cockblock, dude!" Andy protested.

"Yeah, d-don't cockblock, dude!" Patty echoed. She staggered back but I grabbed her by the hem of her shirt and pulled her in close before she could knock anything over.

"What are you doin' out?" I hissed through my teeth.

"I got hungry and I couldn't find anything in your kitchen," she complained. I tossed several bags of chips and little cake snacks on the counter.

"Really?" Andy griped.

"The sooner you ring me up, the sooner we're outta here," I explained.

"The lady wants to sell herself, let her. I've got the money and the-"

I rolled my eyes and tightened my grip on Patty as she began to settle her body weight against me. Sleep was rolling in, thank fuck.

"You ain't got enough money to afford her," I piped up. "Let's go."

He swiped my items and stuffed them into a bag. Before he could say my total, I tossed a ten-dollar bill his way and grabbed the food.

"You're thirty-three cent short."

"I'll come back. Write down an IOU," I called over my shoulder as I hurried the two of us out of the store. I shoved Patty into the passenger seat of my truck and hurried around to get away from there. I lived too close to start nonsense here.

"Come on. I was gonna give the guy a good time."

"Stop! Stop!" I shrieked, fists balled tight as I angrily swung at the steering wheel and dash board. "You JUST got in the city. Don't be reckless."

"You and I both know I need the money," she purred. I let out a deep, calming breath as I started the engine.

"Not that badly, Patty. God. You're lucky I had to go to the store when I did."

She laughed. "He was harmless."

"You don't shit where you sleep. You can't go pimpin' yourself out not even a stone's throw away from where you're currently livin'. And what if you would have gotten caught? Who would have bailed you out? With what money?"

"I can... Hey, I can take care of myself," she shot back.

"Sure you can," I quietly muttered. I pulled into the free space outside of my apartment complex and hurried Patty and the groceries out of the car. Pieces of glass crunched under my shoes as I approached my place. I eyed the broken window over my kitchen sink where my curtains were torn and fluttering against the light breeze outside. I glanced over at Patty then tugged on the front door, which was still locked. Patty quietly laughed. I grit my teeth and unlocked the door with my key. Patty scurried inside before me and I locked us in.

Paul was snoring from his place sprawled along the entire sofa, his shoes kicked off and his jacket covering his head. I smacked the lightswitch on the wall and snatched the jacket off of his face. His hands shot up to shield his eyes from the overhead light as he fought to squint at his sister and I standing over him.

"Lights wake you up, but the sound of glass breaking doesn't?" I inquired.

"What are you talking about?" he groaned, swinging his legs over the side of the cushion and sitting up to stretch. I waltzed over to the kitchen sink and gestured to the window.

"Shit. What happened? Are we safe?" he questioned, tensing up.

"Your sister thought it'd be a good idea to try to sell herself to a convenience store clerk," I tossed Patty a pack of snack cakes and started putting away the rest. He turned his attention to her.

"You went out? Why didn't you wake me up?"

"You looked tired."

"Patty, you heard what Jackie said. You were supposed to-"

I slammed the refrigerator door shut and rounded the counter divider to approach Paul before he could lean into her.

"No, you were supposed to, you get it? You were supposed to watch over her and make sure she was okay," I bellowed.

"I closed my eyes for a second. How was I supposed to know I was going to fall asleep? She's a grown woman! I can't keep my eyes on her at ALL times."

"Step up or step out. The door is right there and if you use it, do not come back because I don't need this," I pointed over his shoulder for the front door. His mouth tightened.

"You want my help or not?"

"Help sounds good," Patty chimed from across the room.

"Until she is sober, you are to keep both eyes on her," I said in a softer tone. "If she gets up to take a piss, you better be right there."

His chin didn't soften. I licked my lips and planted my hands on my hips with a shake of my head.

"I've been there and you don't want to go there. It sounded good as a threat, but there ain't shit for you outside of that door. The city will chew you up and spit you out and God forbid a new chapter of the Lost or any of the goons I let get away come lookin' for you two. They'll kill you for abandonin' 'em. That ain't what you want."

"Be a lot easier on you though, huh?" he shot back.

"Doubt it," I didn't hesitate. "They would probably use you two to track me down."

"So you are just housing us to cover your own ass-"

"No. Fuck. I just want..." I momentarily closed my eyes to calm my bubbling frustration. "I want you and your sister safe and I guess it would be nice to know I could do that for you, for someone for once."

"You don't get it. You're never safe," he claimed, taking a step closer. "Whether it's Liberty City or Blaine County or The Lost or whatever the hell else, you are always going to be on the run from whatever you started running from."

"Then I reckon it best if we mind our business and stay a couple steps ahead," I shoved him back and rolled my eyes. He nodded once and looked to where his sister was perched on the couch with her snack.

"Look, I have class in the mornin'. All y'all could ever need, I got it so there's no need for anyone to go climbin' through windows or unlockin' my door. There are extra blankets in the closet by the couch. If somebody comes knockin', come get me. After class, I can pick up a couple applications for you to fill out. Alright?"

"Sure. Don't bring me anything that will have me scrubbing toilets," he griped.

"Right. You'll take whatever I bring," I said with a hard laugh. "Goodnight."

I closed the door to my bedroom and let out the deepest sigh. I was out of my fucking head. I stripped down to my birthday suit then pulled a large t-shirt over my head and collapsed against the mattress. Just as I began wrapping myself up in the tangles of indigo sheets, my cell phone started ringing from my pile of clothes on the floor. This had better be important. I freed the device from my pants pocket. Mr. T danced across the screen.

"Make it quick," I answered.

"Mm. I believe I call the shots. Tomorrow morning? What are you doing at nine?" he questioned.

"I've got class. What's up?"

"Need you to make a delivery."

"Yer kiddin'," I said with a huff. "That lecture is the intro to my course."

"You won't be able to afford any more lectures if you don't work," he coaxed. "Get the notes from a classmate or somethin'. You gave me your word. If you walk away from this, you are walkin' away from me and there won't be any comin' back, sugar tits. I told you how this works. I call, you go."

"You said I would go only if you can't make it there yourself," I corrected. "What plans could you possibly have that are more important than my class?"

"Any and everything. You doin' it or not?"

My eyes rolled so hard in their sockets that I made myself dizzy. "Can't I do it now and get it out of the way?"

"No. Contact ain't ready yet. I'll call you in the morning with the details and your sweet ass better answer the phone, got it?"

Before I could protest, or even answer, he ended the call. I chucked the phone over my shoulder, letting it bounce across the carpet and disappear in the dim room. MoJo leapt onto the bed and nuzzled my forehead with his nose as he purred. The television in the living room switched on with a click and I heard Paul tell Patty to sit down beside him. I rolled onto my back and covered my face with a pillow to suppress my groan.

"Fuck."


End file.
